


Chasing Ghosts Part II

by tyranusfan



Series: The Search for Bucky Barnes [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Angst and Humor, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyranusfan/pseuds/tyranusfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still reeling from his captivity in Africa, Steve Rogers receives electrifying news: Bucky has been sighted in Europe! But his search sets off a chain of events for which even Steve and the Avengers are not prepared. Part 7 of "The Search for Bucky Barnes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Part 7 of "The Search for Bucky Barnes."  
Set after the earlier pieces in this series: "Visiting Hours," "Breaking the Leash," "Chasing Ghosts Part I," "Inseparable," "168 hours," and "Realists." 

Most of this was planned out months before Age of Ultron came out, and contained several references to the (then) upcoming film. Since I was halfway into writing it when I saw AoU, I have decided to keep it as it was, rather than try and rewrite it from scratch. I have made a few nods to the film in later chapters.

Special thanks to geminigrl11 as usual for her editing skill. I own nothing.

  
**Chapter 1**

 

_Present Day_  
_10 Months After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D._  
_Southwestern Crimea, 50 km South of Balaklava_

 

James growled softly to himself. There was little of interest in the study, so far as he could find, but it made no sense that so many guards would be protecting an empty room. Something had to be there. A computer, a file cabinet, a safe, a _folder_ for Christ's sake. He couldn’t believe the effort had been for nothing. A month of traveling and repeatedly combing through the notes Hiram Riddley had found... _something_ had drawn him here. James felt something about this place, something important.

Something he couldn't remember.

He barely resisted the urge to slam his metal fist down on the bookshelf. It would almost certainly splinter the wood, and though he'd been thorough in clearing that floor of the house, he couldn't be certain that no one else was within earshot. 

It was not easy to keep his rage bottled up. He'd spent almost a year doling out his own brand of justice on HYDRA, cutting a fiery swath through their North American operations. Usually, once he'd found useful intelligence or resources, he'd torched whatever place he was raiding and moved on. But he couldn’t do that yet here. HYDRA wouldn't be utilizing the house as a base—as they clearly were given the amount of traffic coming in and out on a daily basis—and have nothing there to show for it.

A slow clicking sound from the hallway caught his attention. James drew one of the Glocks from his coat and melted into the shadows by the bookshelves. The clicking grew louder, until a figure appeared the doorway. After a moment's pause, a man entered the room. 

He was white-haired, stooped, walking with a cane and a prominent limp. Still, James recognized his former master.

 _Lukin_. James gasped, unable to suppress his stunned surprise. 

The old Russian turned from his place by the desk, spotting James quickly. He smiled. "Ah. You kept me waiting, my boy. You never used to do that."

Of all the reasons HYDRA could have had for keeping this particular villa, harboring a ghost was not one James had anticipated. 

Lukin motioned back toward the hall. "You need not have killed them. I left orders for you to be admitted. But, I am pleased to see that you have lost none of your special skills."

James ignored the remark. "I saw you die."

Chuckling, Lukin settled against the desk. "Yes. Comrade Pierce was very thorough in his purge of Kronas Oil. But, he neglected to remember that I had control of a very sophisticated medical facility." He motioned at James' cybernetic arm. "I need not remind _you_ of that."

The smugly casual look on the old man's face grated on James' nerves. Especially since it was all too familiar.

 

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

 

_HYDRA Special Training Facility_  
_Code Name: The Red Room_  
_2002_

 

He slipped into the room silently, checking to be sure he wasn't noticed before closing the door.

Moving gracefully across the darkened room, the Soldier made his way to Natalia's bed. 

She should have already known he was there. He had trained her well; she would have detected his entrance—

Natalia jackknifed off the pillow, the blade in her right hand swinging up to slash his neck. She was fast. Almost too fast. But the Soldier was still faster, catching her wrist with his metal hand and twisting until the knife fell from her grasp. She grunted in pain, bringing her left fist up, but he stepped inside her swing and pulled her against his chest.

"Very good," he whispered in Russian, punctuating the words with a kiss. "Next time, try striking as soon as I come through the door." 

"Maybe I wanted you to get close," Natalia retorted, folding herself against him. His high metabolism meant that his body was warm to the touch. Whatever intimate value her movement had, he knew it was mainly so that she could absorb some of his heat in the chilly room. _So pragmatic_ , he thought, smiling as he kissed her again.

They sank down onto the cot, but she stopped him before matters got too far along—as they usually did during his late night "training" visits. Placing a hand on his chest to halt him, she glanced worriedly at the door. "They will catch us."

"They haven't yet." The Soldier countered. He didn't care if they did. His scattered memories told him little. There was no clear vision of his past or even his identity. It wasn't something he fixated on, since there was nothing he could do about it. But, while he wasn't sure of so many things, he was certain that it had been a long time since he'd truly wanted anything. He _wanted_ this.

" _Yet_." Natalia repeated back to him.

"Let them catch us," The Soldier said, smiling against her neck. " _Tomorrow_. That still leaves us tonight."

"You are incorrigible."

"I don't know what that word means," he replied, nibbling her collar bone. 

Natalia groaned into his shoulder, which only aroused him more. "You must have been very poorly educated."

 _You're incorrigible, Sergeant._

_I don't even know what that means, ma'am._

_It means you were very loosely educated._

_So...are you saying that a dance is completely out of the question, Miss Carter?_

The Soldier froze.

He could see and hear it, as plainly as if the brown-headed woman in uniform were in the same room with him. He could also hear a man laughing in the background. He couldn't see the face in his mind, but it...felt familiar.

"Are you all right?" Natalia asked softly, watching him with obvious concern. 

The Soldier looked down at her, coming back to his surroundings. His student, her room, her cot, the chilled air because students shouldn't be allowed to get comfortable....

The door opened, bouncing against the doorjamb with a bang. Men charged into the room, guns and clubs at the ready. Natalia, to her credit, didn't shout or cry out. Nothing surprised her. The Soldier took pride in that, though he was suddenly unsure why.

The men filled the small room, shouting at them to stand up and get against the wall. The Soldier growled, rising to his feet as he catalogued the opposition. Nine men, all armed, some armored. He was already deciding which should be neutralized first, even as the majority of his brain was screaming _escape, take Natalia, leave...._

He made it exactly three steps before the voice rang out. 

" _Vostok_."

The Soldier's body stopped in place, and straightened until he was standing at attention. All thought of fighting fled his mind. He simply stood and waited for instruction, like a switch had been flipped.

Staring straight ahead, he saw the man who'd spoken enter the room behind the soldiers. Lukin heaved a rather theatrical sigh, and stepped over toward where Natalia was being restrained by two of the armed men. He couldn't hear what she said to Lukin, but he saw and heard the response. 

"Ridiculous! Love is for _children_!" Lukin spat, striking her with the back of his hand. 

He turned his cruel smile toward the Soldier. "You think you mean anything to him? We will show you exactly how deep his concern for you lies...."

 

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

 

_Present Day_

 

James shook his head, pushing the memory away. He remembered what came next: the chair, the pain, the horrified look in Natalia's eyes. Pressing his hand against his temple at the sudden headache, he focused on Lukin again.

The old man was resting casually on his cane, smiling. There was no kindness in it. "Your time with Comrade Pierce left you _soft_. They kept you out too long, allowed your mind to stray from its mission." 

James pushed himself away from the bookcase with a snarl and raised his gun once more. Lukin simply shrugged and moved to sit behind the desk. 

"I am not afraid. My time on this Earth is almost over. I will be dead in a matter of weeks, whether you use that or not. Actually," the old Russian sighed. "You might be paying me a kindness, my boy."

He reached slowly into the pocket of his coat. James tightened his grip on the gun, but Lukin merely pulled out an electronic tablet and set it on the desk.

"What you seek is here." Lukin said, tapping the screen lightly. "Every facility where we worked on you. Every laboratory." 

James glanced at the tablet dubiously. He seriously doubted Lukin would surrender such information so easily.

Lukin smiled at him again. "Go ahead. Find them. Burn them. Do you not see? It changes nothing. You will never undo what we have made you. It does not matter how many years you chase after 'redemption,'" he said it like it was a dirty word. "The dead will still be dead, and you will still be their killer."

James rushed to the desk, pointing the gun at Lukin's face. " _You_ made me a killer! You and Karpov. You forced me to do those things." 

Lukin actually laughed. "'Forced you?' Oh, my boy...we never _forced_ you to do anything. We never needed to. You are a killer. You were a killer when those men found you in the river. You were a monster long before Karpov retrained you."

"You're lying," James seethed. 

"I have never lied to you, Soldier." Lukin said sternly. "I never needed to do that, either. All I ever needed to do was give you a purpose, a role to play in HYDRA's grand plans and you performed it well. You obeyed without question. We only needed to punish you when your mind strayed."

He considered James with what looked like pity. "I care little for how history remembers me, but I know with certainty how it will remember you. HYDRA's greatest asset. A ghost story. A cold-blooded killer."

Rage welled up inside James, rushing through his veins. His heart pounded in his ears. The man before him had tortured him. Imprisoned and enslaved him. Tortured Natalia and countless other "students" of the Red Room and made them into murderers. But, for all the anger that burned inside him, James couldn't find a single lie in anything Lukin had said. His memories weren't of a lifetime of resisting and being forced to kill. He had killed on command, like a loyal soldier.

Lukin was right. 

He slammed the gun down on the desk and moved around it, shoving the chair and its occupant against the wall. 

Lukin smiled up at him. "Do what you must. You know how this part of the game works, my boy. Cut off one head—"

James snatched one of the combat knives from his belt, unable to hold back the tide anymore. "I just might."

TBC

 

A/N: _You'll notice I said "Hydra Training Room." From what we've seen so far, it seems pretty clear that Bucky was always in Hydra's clutches, and despite Natasha thinking she went from the "KGB to Hydra" as she said in CA:WS, the truth is she was probably working for Hydra all along. If the MCU carries over the idea that Bucky has a past with her, then she pretty much had to be._  



	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Present Day_  
 _10 Months After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D._  
 _New York City_

 

Sam Wilson sighed and sagged against the wall of the elevator. After a full week of meetings and briefings with Mike Howard, and a drive back from Washington that had taken far too long for his taste, he would have preferred to stretch his legs a little. But, the hundred-plus stories of Avengers Tower made taking the stairs torturous for most normal human beings. He didn't bother mentally listing the several people in the building at that very moment who didn't qualify under that heading.

He might have preferred to jog up though, honestly, since it could have cleared his head a little. His meetings at the Hoover Building and the Pentagon hadn't given him any good news to bring back there. After several weeks with Steve on the metaphorical bench following the fiasco in Ghudaza, they were being asked to go into the field once more. HYDRA agents had grown active in the States again, operating in Miami, testing new bio-weapons on U.S. Navy personnel, and even raiding a top-secret anti-HYDRA task force meeting at the United Nations.

With HYDRA seemingly back in action on American soil, Steve's sick leave was officially over. And it was Sam's duty to inform Steve, apparently, since he had yet to respond to any of Agent Howard's messages. 

The elevator doors slid open, and Sam stepped out into the common room. He had, months ago, grown out of any amazement about walking in on members of the Avengers team doing ordinary, day-to-day things, so the sight of Thor Odinson reclined on a couch, watching the news while working his way to the bottom of an entire box of Wild Berry Pop-Tarts didn't faze him. Although it did make him grin.

What was being covered on the CNN International newscast was less pleasant. 

" _Authorities have identified the victim as Aleksander Lukin, former Chief Executive Officer of the Kiev-based Kronas Oil Corporation. The wealthy recluse, who has not been seen publicly in almost a decade, was found early yesterday morning in his villa on the Black Sea coast, reportedly stabbed to death by an unknown assailant. Details have not yet been released, but rumors are already stirring across the region, ranging from simple robbery to conspiracy theories involving pro-Russian rebels and even Russian President Putin's government in Moscow. Local authorities have declined to comment while the investigation is in progress, however sources close to...._ " 

"Never seen a ghost murdered before," Sam mused as he entered the central area of the common room. He recognized Lukin's name from the file Natasha had given Steve about Bucky, but he'd been under the impression that the former HYDRA gangster had been found dead once already. 

"Sam, my friend! Welcome!" Thor turned to look at him, but didn't seem actually surprised by his arrival. The Asgardian was hard to read sometimes when it came to his ongoing practice with human greetings. "Come, sit! I am trying to keep informed about your world's events."

Sam accepted the invitation gladly, sinking onto the plush sofa and heaving a long sigh. Thor eyed him. "Did your war council in the Capitol go well?"

"About as well as I expected it to," Sam replied. "HYDRA's popping up in the States again, and they want me, Steve, and Rhodey to go 'hunting.'"

"This was to be expected, after your government's involvement in the Wakandan conflict, was it not?" Thor asked. 

Sam glanced at the larger man. For all Thor's unfamiliarity with human custom and language, he was often quite astute when it came to reading the ebb and flow of politics. Doctor Foster had explained that being the son of the king would necessarily mean that Thor would have had to learn how to navigate his Royal Court, which was just as tricky on Asgard as it would be in a human government. Sam supposed that made sense. "I guess. I just kinda hoped there'd be more time before we had to jump back into that mess. Steve needed some time."

"Mm," Thor grunted, making a show of examining another pack of toaster pastries before tearing into it. "Perhaps a productive activity would do more good for Steven than rest."

Sam eyed Thor, taking the opening to ask about his friend for what it clearly was. The alien god was worried, too. "How's he doin'?"

Thor opened the foil wrapper slowly, lowering his voice. "He has healed physically, but I fear he is still of heavy heart. He retires early, rises late. He has shown little interest in food, and spends most of his time either exercising or in his quarters. Both Natasha and the Lady Pepper have tried reaching out to him, but sadly they have achieved little."

Sam sighed. Not much had changed, then, in his absence. "He's still beating himself up over what happened. Still thinks it's his fault for letting HYDRA know about Barnes." 

"Barnes has survived this long while taking revenge on his former slavers. Steven has little to worry about. I might save any pity for the villains who wronged him."

Huffing a laugh, Sam nodded agreement. Thor had a good bead on the situation. If only he could get Steve thinking the same way.

"Will you being staying for the feast?" Thor asked suddenly.

"Feast?"

"Stark announced that it is 'pizza night.' He promised a feast fit for heroes."

Just the mention of food had Sam's stomach growling in anticipation. He glanced at himself, then met Thor's questioning gaze. "I think that's a strong yes."

"Excellent!"

"I think I'll go see if I can drag Steve out of his cave." Sam stood and headed for the stairwell. The living quarters were only two flights up, and he was still stiff from the long drive into town.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

Sam knocked lightly on Steve's door. Suddenly, upon arriving on the floor housing the living quarters, he'd been gripped with an acute case of nervousness, and he didn't know why. He didn't have anything to be nervous about, really. Nothing that had come out of his meetings in Washington was unexpected, and it wasn't as if Steve was going to be surprised that HYDRA wasn't done terrorizing people.

He supposed he was more nervous about what state he was about to find Steve in, once he saw him face to face. The past few weeks had been rough, watching his friend struggle with not only the aftermath of being held captive—despite Rogers' best efforts to deny that anything had happened at all—but also the close call with Bucky and the knowledge that Barnes was now in far more danger than before. 

Frowning, Sam knocked again. He hoped Steve wasn't already asleep—it wasn't even dark outside, yet. Another long pause went by before he finally heard Steve's voice. 

"Come in."

Sam opened the door, and did a quick scan of the room. Neat, as always. No one would have suspected, based on appearances, that Rogers had been moping around in there for weeks. Steve himself was seated by the window, hunched over a drawing pad. Sam crossed the room. New York's skyline—as seen from Captain America's bedroom window—graced the page in pencil.

Steve spoke before Sam could comment. "If you're here to tell me that the break's over, I already know. I talked to Schroeder this morning."

"Good news travels fast," Sam mused. "I guess you already heard about Lukin, too."

Steve's shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didn't take his eyes off his drawing. "Yup. Saw that, too."

"You think Barnes...?" Sam asked carefully.

Rogers glanced up, taking a long look at the growing shadows of the city's skyline. "Probably. I would."

Sam frowned. " _Would_ you?"

Steve glanced at him, finally, a grim expression on his face. "You read the files, too. Yeah. I probably would."

Taking a seat next to Steve, Sam folded his arms and watched the pencil moving across the paper. "Kinda surprised you're not on a plane to Ukraine."

"No point." Steve shook his head curtly. "Bucky's long gone from there."

"You mad at him?"

Steve looked up at him, frowning. "No. I mean...not in the way you might— No, I'm not mad at him."

Sam pursed his lips, staring at the window as he considered that. "I think I would be. I think I _am_. Chasing him all over the world...."

Steve opened his mouth, then paused and closed it, looking over at Sam with narrowed eyes. "Do I need to write a check for this session, or do I have an open tab by now?"

"I'm not counseling you," Sam protested. "I'm just sayin'!"

Steve's eyes narrowed further, one eyebrow raising. Sam raised his hands defensively. "I'm not! Christ are you paranoid."

"I spent two years working with people who were secretly members of a supposedly long-dead Nazi cult and were planning on taking over the world," Steve retorted. "It's not paranoia if everyone really is out to get you."

Sam laughed. "That is a stunning level of cynicism coming from Captain America. I am shocked. _Shocked_ , I say."

"Maybe you should note that on your little legal pad," Steve said, turning back to his drawing with a faint smirk. 

"Passive-aggressive." Sam shot back.

Steve's smirk grew. "Must be my PTSD showing through, again."

"Sarcastic deflection. And not something you should joke about."

"Been watching a lot of politically incorrect comics lately."

"Subtle changing of subject! Wow, we're firing on all cylinders this evening, Rogers."

Smirk shifting into a grin, Steve turned back to him. "You want to do the full hour, today, or quit while you're ahead?"

"Were you always this pigheaded, or is it another side effect of the serum?"

"Nope, all me. Bucky can tell you stories...."

Steve was drawing again, but the smile hadn't faded, so Sam smiled, too. "You know, that's the first time in a month that you've said his name without it sounding like he's already dead."

Rogers looked up at that. "He's not dead. He's just on his own." Steve shrugged. "I don't like it when he's on his own. Never have."

Sam nodded, taking the breakthrough in stride without gloating. After a moment, he motioned toward the door. "I actually came up here to see if you wanted to eat."

"I'm...not hungry. Thanks though."

Sam wasn't easily deflected. "It's pizza night. Thor's already warming up for the feast."

That elicited a loud growl from the vicinity of Steve's stomach. Sam smirked. "Stomach's always the first one to turn on you."

Rogers glanced at his traitorous midsection, then at Sam. He sighed and placed the pad down on his desk. "Fine. You win. But, I don't really feel like eating."

Sam fell in beside Steve as the taller man headed for the door. "Uh-huh. You act like that, but you'll eat two pizzas all by yourself."

"You say that like it's abnormal...."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

"I'm not signing anything else today. It's pizza night." Tony Stark said in his sternest voice.

"You're the one who decided to privatize world security." Maria Hill countered, expertly holding a slice of pepperoni in one hand and an electronic tablet in the other. Not a single drop of grease landed anywhere but on the plate balanced perfectly on her knee. Steve was impressed. 

"Well, I never agreed to privatize the paperwork," Stark retorted. 

Hill smiled knowingly. "Fury hated paperwork, too."

"And yet he was shockingly good at it," Tony said, grabbing a slice for himself. "Hey! Brilliant idea! We should get him to do _our_ paperwork."

"Fury's busy being dead, Tony." Hill replied. 

Stark gave her a devious smile. " _Officially_ dead, and I hear someone's taken up S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reins since Nick _allegedly_ transferred to the Great Beyond. Any idea who?"

Steve smiled faintly, pretending to worry more about the cheese dangling from his slice of pepperoni than the Tony-Hill poker game developing on the opposite sofa. The fact that some remnant of S.H.I.E.L.D. had survived wasn't news to him—General Talbot had admitted as much in private—but he had no idea who was involved or who was in charge now that the organization's leadership had been largely wiped out. Steve was as curious about what Maria Hill might know as Stark.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. was disbanded, Tony," Maria said with exaggerated patience. Apparently, she wasn't ready to give up her cards. "Something about an evil terrorist cult bent on world domination growing within its ranks for seventy years. I'm not clear on the details."

"Yeah, that's something you want to hear from your Director of Global Security." Tony grumbled. "Come on! Admit it! Fury's still running the show from some bunker in Canada or something. The man has more lives than Capsicle over there."

Maria glanced over, smiling coyly. "You know Steve hates it when you call him that, don't you?"

Tony waved the comment aside dismissively. "It's a term of affection, and don't change the subject!"

Before the interrogation could escalate any further, JARVIS interrupted. " _Excuse me, sir. Captain Rogers has an incoming call_."

Steve frowned. His phone hadn't rung, and he wasn't expecting any calls. "Who is it, JARVIS?"

" _I'm afraid I can't say, sir. The number is unlisted, and my attempts to trace the call have failed. My security protocols are being blocked. Do you wish to take the call?_ "

Sharing a confused look with his comrades, Steve stood and moved toward the bar. "Yes, transfer it to my phone, please, JARVIS."

" _As you wish, sir._ "

When the screen on his Starkphone flashed to life, Steve hit the Accept button. "Hello?"

" _Good evening, Captain_." 

Steve froze at the sound of Nick Fury's voice. Coming on the heels of the previous dinner table conversation, it was a little creepy. "Uh, hi. I...didn't expect to hear from you."

" _I'm sure you didn't,_ " Fury replied, the smirk evident in his tone. " _I've been staying off the radar lately, but I ran across some information that I think you'd want to have, and after everything, I figured I owe you a favor or two_."

Pushing down a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, Steve angled his body toward the bar, to keep his side of the call away from prying ears. He trusted his teammates, but he didn't want Tony hijacking the discussion if he realized who was on the phone. "I'll bite. What is it?"

" _Some of my friends in Europe have been keeping an eye out for persons of interest. Three days ago, a security camera in Izmail caught a quick glimpse of Sergeant Barnes trading for some local currency_."

Steve blinked. Bucky had managed to stay off the grid for almost a year. Something had to be wrong for him to slip up now. "That's...surprising."

" _I thought so, too_." Fury agreed. " _I did some digging through some old files, and I narrowed the list down to two or three places where he_ might _be going. I'm uploading the data to your phone, now. If you leave soon, you might just get there first_."

"I appreciate that. Sincerely."

" _One more thing, Steve. The camera feed also told us why he was probably in such a hurry. There's a HYDRA kill squad a few hours behind him. They might know where he's heading, too_."

Steve stiffened. "I...understand. Thank you." He ended the call, and just stared at the phone screen for a few moments.

"Is everything all right, Steven?" Thor asked from behind.

"That didn't look like good news," Clint added apprehensively.

"Um...some friends of mine in Europe have a lead on Bucky." Steve said, turning toward his friends but still frowning down at his phone. "A solid one."

When he looked up, he was met by astonished looks from the rest of the group. Natasha's shock was evident. Of all of them, she knew that for a "ghost" like Bucky to be identified meant trouble. He was either desperate or getting sloppy in haste...neither of which was a good situation. 

"Where was he spotted?" Clint asked. 

"Any idea where he's headed?" Sam chimed in. 

"You have friends besides us?" Tony asked, looking doubtful. Pepper jabbed him in the ribs. "Ow! It's a valid question!"

Steve raised a hand to stem the tide. "My contact sent me some files. I'm going to look them over, make some calls. Nothing's certain yet. Excuse me."

He pulled up the emails on his phone and headed for the elevator, trying to ignore the surprised silence he left in his wake. If, on the way, a tiny flicker of hope flared to life inside him...well, he didn't know what to think yet.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

Steve made his way up the stairs as quietly as possible. It was late, and the only one liable to be awake was Thor, who was still having trouble adjusting to Earth's day/night cycle—though Steve suspected it was more being separated from Jane Foster than the planet's rotation. Foster was still tying up loose ends in London, and wasn't due in New York for some weeks. In any case, he opened the door leading out into the hangar as carefully as he could, so as not to attract attention.

He almost walked into Natasha. 

"About time," she said. "I was about to come get you."

Steve looked around the hangar. Clint was already boarding the Quinjet, Thor was helping Tony load one of the Iron Man suits, and Sam was walking past, making adjustments to his flight harness. "What are you...?"

Romanoff gave him a patient look. "You're still a terrible liar. Fury wouldn't have called you with anything _other_ than a good lead."

Steve gaped. "How did you know—?"

She gave him another patient look. He held up his hands. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask."

He followed her toward the waiting jet. Sam smiled slyly as they came up the ramp and leaned in as Steve got close. "You didn't really think we were going to let you leave the country by yourself after what happened last time, did you?"

"I can take care of myself," Steve protested, smiling back as he stowed his shield and duffel bag. 

"History tells us otherwise, Cap," Tony jibed as he and Thor boarded. "All right! Let's hit the road. Cap, it's your party. Want to tell us what we're walking into?"

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Romania_  
 _Southern Carpathian Mountains_  
 _60 Miles North of Bucharest_

 

"Tell me again why we're out here by ourselves."

Steve heaved a tired sigh, though to be fair he was more fatigued by three days of trudging across snow-covered hills and a string of sleepless nights than Sam's running commentary. "I don't know that Bucky will be here, let alone if we're even in the right place, but, if we are and he is, I don't want him to be spooked by a crowd. Besides, it's hard to hide Tony and Thor, even out here."

"He's already met us," Sam said, ignoring the last part. "Most of us, anyway."

Sam and the others had filled him in about their side of the Ghudaza fiasco. He knew Bucky had come to Sam, and they'd in turn gone to Tony. He also knew that Bucky had bolted after the battle for reasons unknown. "Yeah, and he left as soon as he could."

Sam grinned. "That's because a little of us goes a long way."

Steve shook his head with mild exasperation, but he was glad Sam was back to cracking jokes about recent events. Sam and the others had spent too long walking on eggshells around him—though he admitted that he hadn't made it easy on them, and he wasn't happy with himself that he'd spent weeks moping around the Tower when he should have been right back out in the field looking for his friend. However, he was convinced that if they were going to show up unannounced there, in Bucky's path, then it was better to do so as quietly and invisibly as possible, both to keep Bucky from feeling ambushed and to lessen the chance of warning whoever was chasing him.

Natasha and Clint were doing their own reconnaissance in the Brăila-Galati area, in case Bucky wasn't making as good time as Steve suspected he was, while Tony and Thor were patrolling in the cloaked Quinjet along the plains east of Bucharest. Hopefully, they had enough bases covered to actually turn up something. What worried Steve, though, was that so far they'd seen no sign of the HYDRA kill team that Fury had warned about, and there was a plethora of reasons why that could be, almost all of them bad. Steve had decided to keep to the plan, and deal with HYDRA when and if they showed their ugly heads.

The hills between Predeal and Nehoiu were beautiful, and surprisingly untouched by civilization, save for a few scattered lines of chairlifts running up the mountains. It was an easy place to get lost in—intentionally or unintentionally—which was probably why once upon a time the area had also concealed a HYDRA laboratory. 

"Been a long time since I went to survival school," Sam said, huffing a little as they climbed through a particularly deep snow drift. 

"The Air Force asked if I'd go through their arctic survival course this year." Steve mused. "They wanted to do a little internal PR for the pilots."

"Yeah, what'd you say?"

"Fortunately, I got shipped out to Africa the next week," Steve grinned. At Sam's questioning look, he added. "Ice and snow aren't exactly my favorite things anymore."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Can't hold that against you, I guess."

Steve stopped at the crest of a hill and looked around. Their snow-covered surroundings were starting to look disturbingly indistinguishable. "Sam, why don't you get a bird's eye view? I can keep going on foot better than you can through this stuff."

Sam turned to him with mock offense, though he was breathing harder than he had been at the bottom of the mountain. "Are you implying that I'm out of shape, Cap?"

"No. Though I have seen what you call exercise and it's pretty embarrassing." Steve shot back.

Wilson muttered something mostly unintelligible about superhuman anatomy and deployed his wings. A few seconds later he was airborne. 

" _Damn! It's even colder up here than it is down there!_ "

"Beats walkin'" Steve replied. "See anything?" He pulled a pair of micro-binoculars from his belt and scanned the area. It had stopped snowing earlier in the morning, but a steady breeze kept blowing the snow and ice from the trees around them, obscuring much of the high walls of the valley. 

" _Nothing yet. Coming back around_." Sam's voice crackled in Steve's ear. " _Hang on. Here's something...I'm going to take a closer look_."

Steve forced himself to exhale. They'd had a lot of false alarms in their search already. He didn't dare hope for a breakthrough just yet.

" _Cap, there's a cave entrance in the side of the mountain about one klick from where you are now. Doesn't look natural. Want me to come pick you up?_ "

"No," Steve replied. "Keep it in sight, I'll be there in a minute." He jogged up the hill, slowed a bit by the deeper snow drifts, but still making decent time. The drifts became easier to cross as he crested the hill and began to descend into another valley. The ridges above him had blocked much of the snowfall in that section of the valley, and the trip downhill was considerably easier.

He spotted Sam orbiting up ahead, and angled in that direction. There was indeed a cave entrance that looked to have been dug out of the mountainside. As Steve got closer, he could see the traces of a long-overgrown road leading into the opening. The entrance itself was deep inside a grove of trees and several rock outcroppings. He was mildly surprised that Sam had spotted it at all. _No wonder it stayed secret for so long_. 

Sam swooped down and landed just as Steve reached the cave opening. "Think this is it?"

"Nothing else is supposed to be here." Steve shrugged. He looked at Sam. "Turn around." He unzipped the main compartment of Sam's pack and withdrew a red and gold cylinder. The tube popped open at the press of a button, tiny fins and micro-repulsors deploying as Steve tossed it up in the air. Stark's surveillance drone rocketed upward and settled into a tight, Figure Eight patrol path over the valley. A simple wristband on Steve's arm lit up as the drone's signal came through. 

They proceeded into the entrance. Sam dug two electric lanterns out of his backpack.

At first it appeared to be a natural cave, but about fifty feet in, where it was all but invisible from the outside, stood a solid metal wall. The seams of an entrance large enough to take a truck could just be made out through the rust and grime. It was too large and probably too thick to attempt to open by hand. Steve began to regret not asking Thor to come along. Mjolnir would have come in handy about now.

Off to the left, Steve spied the outline of a smaller door, obviously meant for personnel. He moved over to it. There was a handgrip built into the door, and a keypad mounted off to the side along the wall with wires jutting out of it. No power. Steve motioned for Sam to step back. A loud pop from one of his charges, a flash and a puff of smoke, and the internal lock was blasted. Steve tried the handle again, and after a few seconds of straining, the door finally budged. It took a few moments to work the two-inch thick, rusted steel door open, and they were greeted by stale, chilly air from inside. 

Steve traded a grim glance with Sam as he unhooked his shield from its harness. 

"Think it's booby-trapped?" Sam asked, pulling out his sidearm. 

"I don't know. Maybe." Steve said. They'd forced their way inside many HYDRA bases in the past year, and bobby-traps were often the order of the day. "I'm kinda hoping that secrecy was this place's main line of defense."

Unfortunately, they didn't have any way of testing the theory. They'd had the FBI's resources and military EOD teams to help deal with such traps back home. The need to keep a low profile on their current mission meant that all that support was unavailable. Steve sighed. "We'll have to do it the old fashioned way. Eyes open, watch your step."

Inside the steel entryway was a parking area for vehicles. Overturned crates and garbage littered the floor. A few feet inside, Steve found an old power switch mounted on the wall and flipped it. Nothing happened. He turned to Sam and shrugged. "Too much to hope for, I guess." 

There was enough light from the exterior door for them to spot a smaller set of open doors visible along the wall deeper inside. Steve headed for them. They stopped just short, watching carefully for any signs of life, HYDRA or otherwise.

"This is the part in movies where I start yelling at the people to stop being stupid and 'don't go in there.'" Sam mused.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. Keeping his shield out in front, he moved through the doorway. A long corridor extended before them, leading deeper underground. The walls and floor were concrete. Piping and wiring lined the ceiling, with some of the wires dangling along the walls. Light fixtures hung every few feet, but without power they would be of no help. 

Steve kept his light out front, hoping its wide beam would help him spot any traps. Sam used his light to keep watch behind them. More trash and abandoned boxes dotted the floor, but not as much as in the vehicle bay. Whoever had worked there had left in an orderly fashion when the base was shut down. There were no doors for the first hundred feet or so, but ahead of them, the corridor came to an intersection. 

"Hmm. Creepy hallway to the left, or sinister hallway to the right?" Sam asked, keeping his voice low. 

Steve glanced down each. "We could split up."

Sam's silent look made his opinion of that idea perfectly clear. Steve chuckled and tried again. "It'll be faster."

"Ever seen _The Shining_?"

"No."

"Well, watch it. It'll forever change the way you look at long, empty hallways."

"Okay," Steve conceded. "I say left."

They proceeded down the corridor. Sam swept his light along the walls, occasionally checking behind them as they moved deeper into the complex. They finally started seeing doors. Most of them were open, leading to abandoned offices or closets. One led to a conference room, another to a communications room crammed with long-outdated radio equipment. Dust and cobwebs were the only real decorations left in the place. Two secondary corridors branched off from the first, leading to a kitchen, a few workshops and a small manufacturing area. Most of the equipment left looked half a century old, at least. Empty spaces marked the removal of probably more valuable machinery. 

Disappointed, they headed back the way they came. The rooms along the other, longer hallway were less obvious in their former uses. Some were more offices and storage, others were unidentifiable. Several smaller halls branched off, and they explored each in turn as they came across them. 

Among the empty workshops and offices, a small shooting range stood, complete with paper targets hanging from hooks and empty bullet casings. A small gymnasium with rusted weights and exercise bars occupied the end of one hall. A small shower stall and dressing room was off to one side of the gym, along with another room that gave evidence to Sam’s “sinister” impression of that side of the base. 

Off the main hall stood an elaborate surgery suite, complete with dusty stainless steel tools, and a hinged operating table draped with cracked leather straps and metal restraints. The restraints on the left side of the table were noticeably heavier than the ones on the right. Storage cabinets lined the walls, many hanging open and empty. A few conspicuous holes in the walls and electrical outlets in the floors marked spots where objects had been removed.

Steve was already having flashbacks to the lab where he'd rescued Bucky in Schmidt's Austrian labor camp when he spotted it. "Oh, God...."

Beyond the operating bed, draped in a ragged, dusty sheet, stood a near identical copy of the radiation blasting machine that Zola had used to experiment on Bucky in 1943. Some of the components were different, some streamlined and others bulkier than the older model, but the device was clearly of the same lineage. 

He looked back at the table, at the thicker restraints, hanging from the left side of the bed...where Bucky's mechanical arm would have been. 

The files Natasha had supplied him about the Winter Soldier project were sketchy around the early postwar years. Many of the details about Bucky's initial capture and whatever had been done to him between 1945 and 1955 had been largely lost to history. Steve had been able to cobble together a rough picture of the chain of events, held together by assumptions and logical deduction. He knew that at some point the mechanical arm had been grafted onto Bucky's body. He knew that not all of the changes to his physiology had been complete before he'd fallen to his apparent death in the Alps. It had stood to reason that HYDRA had continued modifying him with drugs and tortuous experiments after the war...but _seeing_ one of the places it might have happened shook Steve to his core.

"Hey, Steve," Sam called from the other side of the room. He was standing by a desk, shining his light on some papers pinned to a board. Steve ran a hand over his face in an effort to compose himself and stepped over. The papers were yellowed with age, covered in dust, but surprisingly intact. The print was in both Russian and German. Steve picked out a few phrases he recognized, but the wording was fairly technical and beyond his more functional knowledge of either language.

The desk was littered with writing implements, a couple of boxes, an ashtray, and an old writing pad. Steve recognized some Nazi-issued coins and some Soviet coins in a tray along the edge of the desk. A dirty porcelain plate was stored against the wall, behind a file holder. Steve picked it up. It was plain, except for a "Made in Germany" stamp in blue ink on the bottom. 

"Guess we know now, huh?" Sam asked. 

Steve nodded. "Take these papers. Might not be anything useful, but...." He paused, shifting his light back to the table and the radiation machine. Suppressing a snarl, he shook his head and motioned for the door. "Let's check out the rest of the rooms."

Sam spoke up as they moved into the hallway. "You think Barnes has found this place, yet?"

"I don't know," Steve admitted. It didn't seem as though anyone had been in the base in decades. But, Bucky had infiltrated other places without leaving so much as a fingerprint, so he had no reliable way of knowing. "I— I don't know if it would make me feel better or worse if he has."

"I keep expecting to turn around and see him in here with us." Sam said, obviously trying to lighten the oppressive mood. Steve sensed it, and appreciated the attempt, even if he wasn't buoyed by it. He shot Sam a forced smile anyway. 

"Ten bucks says you'd wet yourself if he did."

"No bet," Sam replied immediately.

The rest of the base held a laboratory, complete with old test tubes and broken flasks, a couple of walk-in coolers and freezers, a bunk room, and a claustrophobically small holding cell. A large part of Steve didn't want to know who'd been kept in it or for how long.

He was about to head back to the surgery suite when the lights on his wristband went from green to red, and a short warning beep sounded. Steve glanced at Sam, who had noticed the alarm. "We've got company."

Steve pulled out his Starkphone and entered the command that would link it with the wristband and connect to the drone. A small map of the valley appeared on the screen. Four blinking red indicators were closing in from the north, from the same direction he and Sam had come.

"Probably not friendlies, given our luck," Sam muttered. 

"Probably not," Steve said. "Let's get back to the entrance. I don't want to get trapped down here."

They double-timed it back to the main hall and the vehicle bay. Steve checked his phone. The radar contacts were getting close, likely within sight of the cave entrance. Steve could just make out the approaching growl of engines outside. He drew his sidearm and motioned for Sam to follow. 

He and Sam had just cleared the entryway and were close to the cave opening when four red and silver snowcats rumbled down the slope and quickly took up positions in a semi-circular cordon around the cave mouth. The men who poured out wore body armor similar to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s special forces squads, and they didn't waste time, opening fire with automatic weapons as soon as they were clear of their tracked vehicles. 

Sam and Steve took cover behind a rocky outcropping along the left side of the cave. Steve propped his shield up between two of the larger rocks, leaning down to fire his weapon in the small V-shaped space beneath. Bullets pinged off the vibranium disc, and ricocheted off the stone walls over their heads. He and Sam returned fire, careful to conserve ammunition. No doubt their attackers had more than they did.

Steve ignored the line of soldiers who were laying down cover fire, and waited for the ones who tried to penetrate the cave entrance, firing at them when they got too close. Catching two in their armored vests, and one in the leg, Steve's accurate fire kept the enemies at a distance. Soon they stopped trying to storm the cave. 

It wouldn't last, Steve knew that much. Their attackers would bring out heavier weapons, and that would be too much for two men with Sig Sauers. They needed to tip the scales while the enemy was uncertain as to their strengths. He paused to reload, keeping low behind the shield. "I count fifteen of them."

Sam fired again. "At least. We can't stay here."

"We won't make it far on foot," Steve said, more to himself than Sam. "We can't fly out, they might shoot us down. Maybe we can take one of their snowcats."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate that." Sam smiled. "How do we get out to it?"

"You brought Stark's toy box, right?"

"Wouldn't leave the jet without it," Sam said, taking aim on another man trying to get close. "Backpack. Lower pocket."

Steve reached into Sam's pack and found the small box. He opened it and plucked out one of the spherical smoke grenades from its cradle. The bomb activated with a beep. Steve counted to three and hurled it toward the line of snowcats. As soon as it hit the ground, nozzles on either side began gushing billowing clouds of white smoke. Seconds later, as the wall of drifting gas began to envelope the soldiers, small flares shot out at random intervals, whistling into the line of men and exploding with dramatic—if actually harmless—effect.

"Head for the last car in line," Steve ordered, hefting his shield and taking off at a sprint. He heard Sam scrambling out from cover and following close on his heels. The smoke grenade was still putting on its light show. Some of the HYDRA troops had regrouped, and were taking pot shots in a vain effort to disable the small bomb. 

As they closed in on the vehicles, Steve spotted one HYDRA soldier stumbling blindly in the mist. He swung his shield out, striking the man's helmet and knocking him cold. Sporadic gunfire shifted in their direction, but unable to see, the gunmen could only aim in the direction of the sound, and they hit empty air.

Two more men loomed out of the smoke. Steve dropped and swiped their legs with his, flipping both men onto their backs. He punched one as he tried to rise, and caught the other with a roundhouse kick just as he got back to his feet. Sam raced ahead, taking on a third man with a right hook followed by an elbow to the face. 

They reached the red snow cat just as the other HYDRA operatives finally realized what was happening. Gunfire was hitting the aluminum cab of the vehicle, forcing Steve and Sam to take cover behind it as the circled around to the driver's side door. Sam got the door open, but had to duck back down as a bullet cracked the windshield. 

"Keys are here." He said. "But, I don't think they're gonna just let us drive off."

"We need to disable the other three cars," Steve said. 

"Any ideas on how we do that?"

Before Steve could answer, a muted _pop_ echoed off the surrounding hillsides. A split second later, the engine cover of the snowcat immediately in front of theirs erupted in smoke and sparks. _A rifle?_ Steve thought. Two more _pops_ and Steve heard similar hits on the two further vehicles.

" _Sniper!_ " One of the HYDRA soldiers called out. More rifle fire could be heard, and as the smoke from Tony's distraction finally began thinning out, Steve saw the soldiers diving for cover behind the other cars or making for the cave entrance. He looked up at the ridge above the valley, but couldn't see anything. 

"It's now or never, Cap!" Sam shouted, scrambling into the snowcat. 

Steve followed. Sam cranked the engine, and after a quick study of the dashboard, they were motoring up the hill in the direction they'd come. Gunfire ricocheted off the snowcat's cab, but not as intense as before. In one of the rear-view mirrors, Steve saw the troopers still taking cover, trying to avoid the unseen assailant. 

"Was that Hawkeye?" Sam asked. "Or do you think...?"

Steve frowned, not daring to hope anymore, after so many disappointments during the past year. "I don't know what to think. Let's get out of here."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Complex Hanul Muresenilor_  
 _Săcele, Romania_  
 _Midnight_

 

After ditching the snowcat along the roadside, Steve and Sam piled into their rented Landrover and took a circuitous route North, hoping to throw off any pursuit. They made it back to Săcele after nightfall, and when they were sure they weren't being tailed, returned to their hotel room. It was just on the topside of "modest," something two average American tourists who had nothing to hide might rent out. Steve and Sam might have simply camped outside of town, much like they'd both done during their respective tours in the Army, but Natasha and Tony had recommended hiding in plain sight. 

"Just because you're sneaking around doesn't mean you can't have room service and cable TV," Tony had said. 

Sam kept watch over their shoulders while Steve unlocked the door. As with every night they'd been there, he didn't turn the light on until they were both inside. Unlike the other nights, however, they weren't alone.

Steve had his shield out before his eyes adjusted to the light, but even as he moved, he registered the profile of the dark-clothed figure and knew he didn't need to defend himself. "Bucky...."

Barnes was perched on the back of the room's small sofa, feet on the cushions, elbows on knees, not even looking up. "I thought I told you not to follow me?"

"When have I ever listened?" Steve shot back automatically. Sarcasm was a reflex when he was around Barnes, always had been. He took a moment to examine his friend more closely. 

Bucky was wearing the same black combat fatigues and armor that he'd worn during the battle in Washington, but covered with a dark denim jacket. The left sleeve bulged slightly around the metal arm. He fidgeted with a black ball cap in his gloved hands. A long, high-powered sniper rifle sat against the arm of the sofa, easily in arm's reach. The hair was shorter, if a bit ragged, and his face looked healthier than it had in Washington, despite deep bags under the eyes. 

"You look better than the last time I saw you," Steve said, half-joking as he eased further into the room. Sam moved off toward the nearby table, obviously giving them space. 

Bucky looked up at him for the first time since Steve had entered, expression unreadable. "So do you."

They watched each other for a moment. Steve's mind was racing, a flood of emotions threatening to drown him, but every time he opened his mouth, no words were forthcoming. Finally he huffed a laugh and settled with his back against the wall by the door, his pose almost mirroring Bucky's. "Ten months I've imagined this moment, and now...I have no idea what to say to you."

Bucky stared at him for a moment, then his eyes drifted to the side, focused on something only he could see. "Me either."

Another beat went by in silence, then Bucky spoke again. "What are you doing here?"

Steve shrugged. "Looking for you. I got a tip about an old HYDRA base in the mountains, heard you might be heading for it...I thought I might finally...you know...."

"You found it," Barnes said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Steve said softly. "Was that—? Was that where they...?"

"I think so," Barnes said. "Maybe. I don't remember it all that well." 

Steve waited, but it didn't seem that Bucky was going to elaborate. He straightened and stepped over to the table where Sam was sitting, watching them and trying to appear as unobtrusive as possible. "I take it that was you out there, covering us?"

"I don't think they expected to find you there," Barnes said, "It threw them off balance."

Accepting that that was all he was going to get on the subject, Steve motioned to the rest of the room. "You, uh...you can stay the night if you like."

It wasn't what he wanted to say, not by a long shot. That would be more akin to _you can come home_ , or _will you come home?_ but Steve had meant what he'd told Sam. He didn't want to spook Bucky, not now, not when they'd finally—

"You can't stay here," Barnes said, abruptly standing and eyeing the door like he expected it to be broken down any moment. His mood shifted from shy to agitated in the blink of an eye. "You leave a trail that glows in the fucking dark, Rogers. That hit squad will find you now that they know you're here."

"We weren't followed," Sam said, breaking his silence.

"That squad has been hunting down S.H.I.E.L.D. agents for months, Wilson." Barnes shot back. "They tracked _me_ , they can definitely track you two. We need to get out of here."

Steve was struck by several things simultaneously. Bucky's use of the word "we," his apparent knowledge of the HYDRA hit squad, and the noticeable familiarity when addressing Sam. Their reunion was nothing like what he'd fantasized about since the previous April. It was a lot to absorb in a short few minutes. He shook it off though, since Bucky at least seemed to be willing to go with them for the time being. "We can call our friends, the jet can be here pretty quick."

Barnes blinked at that. "Stark's here?"

"Yeah, him and the rest of the Avengers. We, uh, actually came to help _you_."

Barnes took that in for a moment, but was all business when he spoke again. "Maybe you should—" He froze, turning his head toward the window. "Do you hear that?"

Even as he spoke, Steve picked up on it, too. It was high pitched, closing in...like a small rocket engine. He connected the sound to what it was at the same time as Bucky, who leapt toward him and Sam just seconds before the front window shattered and the room exploded.

TBC

A/N: _Romania, of course, is the birthplace of Sebastian Stan, who brings Bucky to life so well. Felt appropriate to place the Winter Soldier's origin point there as well_. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Steve woke to the rumbling of an engine and the bouncing of a vehicle moving along a bumpy road. Cold air sent a shiver through him as he blinked awake. A groan slipped out as he shifted in the seat. He _really_ needed to stop being hit with missiles.

He looked across the seat, finding Bucky behind the wheel. "What happened?"

"RPG took out the room." Barnes replied matter-of-factly. 

"How'd we get here?"

"I carried you out through the back window."

Steve's brain was starting to come back online. "Where's Sam?"

Bucky pointed with his metal hand toward the rear of the truck. Steve turned, finding a sliding window leading to a covered cargo bed. The truck seemed to be an old troop carrier. He slid the window open and peered through, finding Sam stretched out on his side, resting his head on his pack, with a blanket over him. "Sam?"

Wilson gave him a thumbs-up and a wan smile. "Sore and accounted for." 

Steve nodded and turned back to their rescuer, wondering in the back of his mind if there was any significance to the seating arrangement, or if he was merely assigning emotion where there wasn't any. He noticed a line of red down Bucky's hand on the steering wheel. "You're bleeding."

"I was. It's healing," Bucky replied simply. 

"Thank you," Steve said. He wasn't sure why, but he felt compelled to say it. Silently, he chastised himself for expecting too much. The Bucky in front of him wasn't going to be the Bucky he'd known before. Steve had been telling himself that for months, but now in the moment, he kept forgetting.

"You should rest," Bucky said, ignoring the gratitude. "The smoke might aggravate your asthma."

Steve frowned, opening his mouth to reply, but Bucky looked at him sharply before he could speak. 

"Sorry. I get confused," Barnes said, motioning toward his head with his flesh hand and looking embarrassed. "There are two of you up here."

"It's okay, Buck," Steve smiled gently. "I get confused about that, too, sometimes."

An uncomfortable silence fell over them. Steve tried to back off, give Bucky space, but he had bigger problems to worry about, too. "Where are we going?"

"South. It was the only road out of town I could find that they weren't blocking."

Steve nodded. "We should turn east as soon as we can. The others are closer to the coast."

Barnes looked dubious, but didn't say anything. 

"Bucky...I know it's probably hard to trust—"

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Barnes snapped suddenly. 

That brought Steve up short. "It's—it's your name...."

"It's _his_ name," Barnes hissed. "That guy in the museum. I'm not him."

"You are him," Steve said softly. "I know it must be hard to...I know a lot has happened. But, you _are_ that man."

Barnes glanced at him, the anger bleeding away, replaced with something unreadable. "Maybe I don't wanna be."

Steve didn't quite know what to say to that. Still, the lines of communication were open, if not exactly affable. "Okay. What, um, what should I call you?"

"My name is James," Barnes said quietly, shifting his gaze back to the snow-covered road.

The reflex was to say that Barnes had always hated that name, going back to childhood, but Steve knew he was going to have to pick his battles if this was going to work. "Okay. James."

They fell back into silence after that. Barnes drove, Steve fidgeted uncomfortably, trying not to say the things that were going through his mind. He was determined not to push. Bucky had been pushed enough.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Outskirts of Urziceni, Romania_  
 _1:45 AM_

 

Two more close calls with HYDRA soldiers and a long, tense drive later, they came across an abandoned factory hidden in trees just off the road. Whether Barnes had spotted it or already knew it was there, Steve didn't know. Given the gloomy, overcast night, Steve doubted anyone could have spotted the dark edifice if they hadn't already been looking for it. Barnes wasted no time parking the truck, then hopping out and removing a heavy duffel bag from the back.

Sam had already climbed out, and met Steve when he left the cab. Steve eyed him closely. "You okay?"

"Felt like I've been hit by a truck, but yeah," Sam said, gazing at the dark forest surrounding them. "Looks like Barnes found us a rest stop." 

"I guess," Steve said. "He doesn't seem to want to share much."

Sam smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, the flight across the Atlantic with him was fun, too."

They retrieved some blankets, Sam's pack, and Steve's shield from the cargo area. Steve took a moment to launch the last of Tony's surveillance drones, then followed the others inside the huge, dilapidated building. 

The interior of the old factory reminded Steve a lot of the HYDRA base that he'd raided single-handedly to rescue Bucky and the rest of the 107th during the war. Long assembly lines dominated the main floor. Rows of huge, unidentifiable machines lined the walls. There were two levels above the first floor, each with broad catwalks overlooking the main area, and high vaulted ceilings that disappeared into the gloom above them.

Barnes led the way, picking a walled-off office area along the north side of the main floor and dropping his duffel on a dusty, wooden desk. "You can sleep here for a few hours."

Sam shared an uncertain look with Steve, but started laying out the blankets. Steve was too argumentative by nature to just agree. "I can take the first watch—"

"I'll do it." Barnes said as he brushed past. 

"You're just as exhausted as we are, Bu— _James_." Steve objected, following the other man toward the door. 

"I said I can do it." Barnes said, spinning and pressing his metal hand against Steve's chest to stop him in his tracks. They stood that way for a moment, before Barnes seemed to realize which hand he was holding Steve back with, then he snatched it back like he'd been burned. "I'm sorry. Just sleep. It's okay."

"You need to sleep, too." Steve said. 

Bucky shot him a weary look. "It's better if I don't."

Steve watched silently as Bucky retreated from the room. With a tired sigh, he turned and lowered himself into a sitting position on one of the blankets. He didn't need to look to see the grin on Sam's face.

"So...someone _can_ out-stubborn Steve Rogers."

Steve shook his head. "I guess we don't quite have his trust, yet."

A beat went by before Sam replied softly. "I think it'd be hard to trust anyone after what he's been through."

Steve heard the silent rebuke. "You think I'm pushing too hard."

"I think it's hard for you to separate the Bucky you knew from the James Barnes that's here now, and that's frustrating for you." Sam said. "But, think about this: it's even harder for him, _and_ he's got two or three different versions of _you_ in his head to sort through."

"So, I should back off."

"No, just let him set the pace. He didn't have to come find us at the hotel. He didn't have to come after you last month in Africa. He's not pushing you away, but I don't think he can handle Full Power Steve Rogers right now. Give him space."

Steve laughed, remembering Sam's words from the day before. "A little of us goes a long way?"

"That's what I've heard." Sam chuckled. "Go to sleep. I don't think he'll abandon us here, and the drone will give us a heads up if any trouble comes this way."

Unable to argue with that, Steve reluctantly settled down onto the blanket. Sam drifted off to sleep relatively quickly, but Steve just lay there, listening to the creaks of the building and the whistling wind, and beginning to worry despite Sam's counsel. _What if it was a mistake coming here?_ What if he ended up pushing Bucky away after all this time? What would he do then?

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

He'd dozed off at some point after the last test. Zola had left the room, preoccupied with something unrelated to the ongoing experiments. There was shouting and noises echoing beyond the door, but he couldn't spare the energy to worry about that. It was all he could do to stay in that perfect twilight between unconsciousness and reality. He didn't care enough about what was happening outside to disrupt the balance he'd finally attained.

He was vaguely aware that he was still reciting his name, rank and serial number—more to annoy Zola, really, than any legitimate reason. The words helped ground him when the pain became unbearable, and in the absence of pain, the mantra was strangely relaxing. 

A shadow loomed over him. He ignored it at first, but then hands gripped his shoulders and shook him. He turned toward the newcomer, whoever it was. 

_Bucky...oh my God...._

_Hey, it's me. It's Steve._

He smiled. "Steve?"

_I thought you were dead._

"I thought you were smaller...."

The shadow pulled back a little, like it was hesitant. "Come on, buddy. I need you to wake up."

James frowned. That wasn't right. He'd had the dream before, and that's not how the conversation went. "What happened to you...?"

The shadow seemed amused. Could shadows be amused? 

"I joined the Army...and we've had this conversation before."

James blinked. The shadow faded, and a familiar face emerged from the inky gloom of his memory. James sat up straight, glancing around at the moonlit surroundings. "Steve?"

Rogers smiled crookedly. "I guess I'm not the only one this place reminded of somewhere else. Thought you didn't need sleep?"

James ignored the jibe, scanning the factory from his perch on the second level overhang. "Something wrong?"

"Yeah," Rogers replied, looking grim. "We've got company. A couple of vehicles a few miles out." He held up his arm, revealing a blinking red light on a wristband. "Surveillance drone. I launched it when we got here. I don't know if it's HYDRA, but I don't think we should take the chance."

Climbing to his feet, James cleared his throat and nodded. "We should go."

"Way ahead of you," Rogers said, gently clasping James' shoulder as he led the way back downstairs. "Sam's getting the truck warmed up."

Minutes later, they were back on the road. Sam drove, heading east toward the coast and one of the pre-arranged rendezvous points that the Avengers had set up. James couldn't think of a good objection, so he simply piled in the back with Steve. He'd been evading HYDRA on foot and on wheels since leaving the Ukraine with little real success. Stark's jet seemed like a good way to escape them completely, regardless of the destination.

The first fifteen minutes passed uneventfully enough. Steve periodically checked the feed from the drone on his Starkphone, James just stared at the dusty floor of the truck bed, and kept his enhanced sense of hearing trained on their surroundings. The dull roar of the old truck engine and the whistle of wind was all that could be heard.

"May I ask you a question?"

James was mildly startled by Steve's unexpected words, but outwardly he showed no reaction except to shrug. 

"How much do you remember? I mean...from before."

He hesitated. He wasn't sure how much Steve actually knew about his time serving HYDRA, or how much he _wanted_ Steve to know. Still, the man had saved him from that hell, he deserved a straight answer. "A lot. Not—not everything, but a lot."

Steve, for some reason, appeared...relieved? James wasn't sure how to read the reaction. It wasn't what he was expecting, in any event. 

Lukin's words echoed in his ears. _I know with certainty how it will remember you. A cold-blooded killer_. Could Steve see that? Surely he could. Even James wasn't so deluded as to—

"Can I ask you a question?" James blurted out. 

Steve nodded, almost seeming eager. "Of course."

James breathed slowly, unsure how to phrase the question he really wanted to ask. "Why didn't you leave me on that ship? Why'd you let me live?"

Rogers looked shocked. "Wh-what do you—? Why wouldn't I?"

"Steve," James said, staring at the other man incredulously. "You know what I've done. The people I killed...I mean, that day _alone_ —"

"I know," Steve interrupted. James looked up at him sharply, but Rogers shrugged. "I do. But, I couldn't leave you there, Bu— _James_. Sorry."

"I'm a _murderer_ , Steve," Bucky said, speaking slowly. Surely Rogers didn't understand. Surely he wasn't that dense.

"You're not—"

"Your friend died!" James spat, anger boiling over. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, or why, but he couldn't hold it back. "He died a long time ago. I'm...what they made him into. A _killer_. You need to see that."

"War made us both killers, James." Rogers said quietly. "But, that doesn't make you a murderer. I don't blame you for what HYDRA made you do. You say you aren't that man in the museum, and that's okay. You don't have to be. But, you're not some monster HYDRA cooked up in a lab."

James sighed, rubbing his flesh hand over his face. "идиот."

"Sorry, what?" Steve asked, though from his expression, James suspected he spoke enough Russian to already know.

"I said, I also remember what a stubborn asshole you are."

That turned Rogers' smirk into a grin. "Yes, I am."

They sat in silence for a while, though it wasn't as uncomfortable as James expected it to be. The truck bounced and slid along the icy road, but Wilson seemed to be keeping a good pace. 

"You know what _I_ remember?" Steve asked suddenly. James just arched an eyebrow at him. "For such a so-called 'killer,' you've managed to save my life three times in the past year."

James rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall of the truck bed. "Not my fault you're a damned trouble magnet."

Rogers smiled again. "I guess some things never change."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_HYDRA Quinjet_  
 _Romanian Airspace_  
 _0430 Hours_

 

"Last sighting was thirty miles east of Bucharest."

Rumlow shook his head. "Where the hell did you find this squad Jack? We had the Soldier _and_ Rogers dead to rights in Săcele."

Jack Rollins looked at him blandly. "They're combat vets, Brock, but not trackers. Most of them cut their teeth under Garrett."

Rumlow snorted derisively. "The same Garrett that bought it going up against _Coulson_ of all people? Doesn't make me feel better. Ping the tablet, again."

"We do it too often, they might find the transmitter—" Rollins objected.

"We don't do it, we lose them again." Rumlow stated flatly. "I don't want them leaving the country."

Rollins complied, moving to the workstation behind the co-pilot's chair and bringing up the tracking display on the monitor. Inputting a few commands on the keyboard, he activated the radio pulse that would trigger the tiny tracking chip in the tablet that Lukin had given the Winter Soldier. A few seconds went by before a return pulse flared on the computer screen. "There. Just outside Medgidia, moving toward Constanta."

That was enough for Rumlow. He got on the communicator and signaled the other units in the region. "This is STRIKE Actual. All units converge on Grid Echo Niner Five. Echo Niner Five. Captain America and the Winter Soldier are your primary objectives. Cross off anyone that gets in the way. This is priority one. Casualties are acceptable."

He cut the transmission, noticing the co-pilot staring at him with a dubious expression. He glared back. "Is there a problem?"

"No, sir." The young pilot turned back to his controls.

Rumlow understood. Rogers and the Soldier each had a reputation among most HYDRA soldiers...at least the ones who'd managed to escape encounters with them. But, Rumlow didn't particularly care if his troops felt intimidated, so long as they did their duty and the mission was successful. They didn't understand that it was personal for him. They didn't _need_ to understand.

"Why there?" Rollins asked, looking at a map on the screen. 

Brock smirked. "Because I know Rogers. He'll head for the warehouse district south of the city. Fewer prying eyes and less danger to civilians, especially this time of day."

"What about the other Avengers?" Rollins asked. 

Rumlow grinned. "We cross them off."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Port of Constanta_  
 _5:00 AM_

 

"Got another one coming in on the right!" Steve yelled over the din of gunfire and the roar of the straining truck engine. Another Tigr was speeding in from the north, its roof-mounted machine gun already firing on them. 

James lined up his sniper rifle, bracing it against the tailgate. "Straighten us out, Wilson."

Sam complied, ceased his evasive driving and kept the truck going in a relatively straight line across the field. A microsecond later, James fired off one round. The Russian 4x4's windshield shattered and the vehicle spun out, coming to rest on two wheels in a gulley. Sam resumed his zig-zagging. 

All had been quiet until they reached the outskirts of Constanta, then all hell had broken loose. HYDRA ground units had swarmed in from every direction, a mix of Russian Tigr 4x4s and Ukrainian VEPR off-roaders dogging their escape route. Sam had left the main road, opting for the open field to make HYDRA's pursuit harder. His evasive driving and James' marksmanship had kept most of the attackers at a distance, but they were closing in as the port city loomed on the horizon. 

Another Tigr was approaching from the southwest. James lined up another shot, despite the bouncing truck, and fired. The vehicle's front tire exploded, flipping it end over end. 

Even Steve had to admit he was impressed. "Nice shot."

James grimaced, pulling back inside the truck and beginning to dismantle the sniper rifle. "I was aiming for the driver. But, I'm glad you liked it, because that was my last round."

"Got any other surprises in that bag?" Steve asked, keeping an eye on their pursuers. 

"I used most of it getting across the border." James said unhappily. "Got a magnetic mine, but the launcher took a bullet."

"Can we just throw it?"

James shrugged and looked through his bag for the device. "I don't know. Never tried." 

"The port's up ahead," Sam called from the cab. "Few more minutes and we're home free."

" _We've got a visual on you, Cap_." Clint's voice crackled through Steve's earpiece. " _Need some cover?_ "

"Not yet," Steve replied. "I don't want to tip our hand. We'll come to you."

"Two minutes," Sam reported. 

The dull roar of a descending aircraft told them that they didn't have that kind of time. A HYDRA quinjet dove down to treetop height and opened fire just as the truck arrived at the dockside warehouse sector. Sam drove through a security fence, the truck bucking violently as they went from snow-covered ground to slick asphalt. The sudden change in surface did nothing good for the vehicle's old tires, and they momentarily lost control, skidding and fishtailing along, smacking the corner of one warehouse as they raced past. 

Even as Sam struggled to regain control, the HYDRA jet took advantage. Another hail of bullets rained down along the right side of the truck, and enough struck home to rip open all four of the right rear tires. 

Steve didn't have time to react as the world outside went sideways. Bucky crashed into him, slamming them both against the side of the truck bed which was now the floor. His duffel, the blankets, and Sam's backpack followed.

With a groan, Bucky pushed himself up and glanced outside. Steve followed, rolling to his feet. The jet could be heard hovering above them. "Sam?"

"Never so glad to be wearing a seatbelt," Wilson called back through the small window. "I'm okay."

Barnes dug his duffel out of the pile and rummaged around inside for a moment, pulling out the mine. "They don't want us dead."

Steve agreed. "Yeah, looks that way."

"I think you should go out there and surrender."

Steve looked over at Barnes sharply. "Are you serious?"

Barnes focused on arming the magnetic mine. "Yes."

"You want me to throw that?"

"No, I will." Barnes replied simply.

"I've got a pretty good throwing arm." Steve shot back.

"So do I." Bucky said, not missing a beat. 

"Whatever you two do, do it fast," Sam called back. "I'm going out through the windshield as soon as you're ready."

Steve slid his shield into place on his back and crawled out past the tailgate. The HYDRA quinjet was indeed just outside, waiting, so close he could feel the warm air blasting down from its turbofan engines. Its nose-mounted minigun was aimed right at him. Steve raised his arms slowly, making a show of surrendering. 

" _Stand down, Rogers_." A voice called out over a loudspeaker on the jet. " _Everyone out_." 

Across the lot, coming in from the northern edge of the warehouse area, Steve saw the lights of two more quinjets, taking up position along the perimeter. Several more ground vehicles were approaching as well. They were about to be completely surrounded.

Steve stepped forward slowly and dropped to his knees, keeping his arms up. "Barton, wait for my signal."

" _Standing by_."

Bucky came out of the truck fast. He planted his foot in the middle of Steve's shield, launched himself into the air and flipped sideways, swinging his cybernetic arm as he rolled, hurling the beeping mine. The device hurtled at the jet, attaching itself to the starboard wing near the engine housing. The surprised crew had no time to react. The mine exploded as soon as its magnetic surface made contact, severing the wing in a massive explosion. 

The now-unbalanced thrust of its remaining engine flipped the quinjet over onto its back and into an uncontrolled spin. Steve grabbed Bucky and they both dove for cover behind the overturned truck as the jet pinwheeled past on the other side, crashing into a group of parked forklifts and erupting in flames. 

"Thanks for kneeling." Barnes remarked as he retrieved their duffels from the truck.

"Yeah, I thought that'd be helpful." Steve said, pulling his shield onto his forearm. Through the smoke and flames, he could just barely see the lights of the other two HYDRA quinjets as they moved in to avenge their fallen comrades. Steve and Barnes ran and met Sam near the front bumper.

The Avengers' quinjet roared past overhead, decloaking as it moved to intercept the HYDRA aircraft, forward guns blazing. The two HYDRA jets broke to either side, trying to evade the new arrival. The familiar whine of Stark's Mk 43 armor joined the sounds of battle as his red and gold form rocketed in behind the quinjet.

" _Your adoring fans are out in force this morning, Cap_."

"What can I say? I used to be in show business." Steve said as he ran across the open lot between the blocky warehouses. He skidded to a halt amidst a small collection of freight. Pallets of metal drums, crates, and boxy metal containers formed a square in the middle of the lot. Bucky and Sam fell in behind him, taking cover in their makeshift fort. 

Lightning lit up the pre-dawn gloom, silhouetting the warehouses around them as Thor entered the fray, engaging the HYDRA ground vehicles along the western edge of the lot. He and Iron Man worked together to break up the group and then picked them off one at a time in the resulting confusion.

There were plenty of HYDRA soldiers to go around, however. Sam pointed to their left. "Steve! Three of 'em coming in, south."

Three Ukrainian Dozor-B armored personnel carriers rumbled through the perimeter fence, sliding to a stop on the slick asphalt and disgorging close to two dozen armored HYDRA troops, each sporting an odd white X symbol on their vests. They fanned out into a loose semi-circle, using buildings and various stacks of freight for cover, but steadily advanced in toward Steve's position. The vehicles were going to be a problem. With the Quinjet, Thor and Iron Man already engaged, Steve's group had nothing that would penetrate their armored hulls. 

"Weapons check." Steve said. The long chase to the coast had depleted their supplies of ammunition. He only had his shield left.

Sam pulled out Falcon's twin submachine guns. "Got my SPPs."

Bucky unsheathed a long, black handled combat knife, sharing a grim look with Steve. 

"All right," Steve said, eyeing the approaching men. "Sam, you hold here, watch our flanks. James and I will engage, try to drive them in so you have clean shots." He looked over at Bucky. "You up for this?"

Barnes glanced at him, a small, devious smile playing at his lips. For a brief moment, Steve saw his Bucky there, with that same devil-may-care expression he'd worn during the war. Steve took brief solace in the feeling.

He leapt out from behind the drums and ran, making for the right end of the line of HYDRA troopers. Barnes went the opposite way. Some of them were already exchanging fire with Sam, but didn't seem to see the attack coming in the pre-dawn darkness. Steve plowed into two men, driving one to the ground and the other into a stack of crates. He swiveled and drove his knee into the first man's face, flattening him. The other didn't get up.

The nearest troops suddenly realized the proximity of the threat, and started firing sporadically in Steve's direction. He dodged back and forth through the labyrinth of freight, staying out of the line of fire. He flung the shield, nailing one soldier in the chest, and catching another in the side as it rebounded back. Steve finished the second guy with a right hook, then ran on, threading in and out of obstacles to stay out of sight. 

Steve couldn't see Bucky anywhere, but he could see that the troops on that side were noticeably fewer than they'd been moments before. Steve dropped two more soldiers, using his shield as a bludgeon. 

The plan seemed to be working. The remaining HYDRA soldiers began pulling together, where Sam could effectively pin them down with his submachine guns. Steve circled back, hoping to squeeze the enemy closer to Sam, and hopefully subdue the rest of them. He rounded a stack of drums, and almost collided with Barnes. 

"Make enough noise?" Barnes asked quietly. 

Before Steve could reply, three heavily-armored HYDRA troops appeared about thirty feet away, close to the APCs. They sported long barreled rifles, which Steve realized just too late that he'd seen before, in Ghudaza. He just managed to push Bucky out of the line of fire when the first electrified projectile got past his shield and slammed into his side. 

Instead of a charged round that released an electrical surge into his body, it was a mass of tentacle-like wires that wrapped around his torso and discharged when he tried to move. When Steve tried to raise his shield, a particularly powerful jolt lanced through him, taking his breath away. If he'd been in his uniform, the electricity might have been blocked, but his civilian clothing offered no protection at all.

Bucky stepped in front of him to block any further attacks, but unfortunately, that was exactly what the soldiers were waiting for. They fired two more of the tazer-like rounds at Barnes. The first hit along his chest, but his body armor absorbed the shock. The second found more fertile ground, wrapping itself around his cybernetic arm. 

The effect was immediate. Barnes hadn't made it two steps before a massive electrical shock shot through his arm and into his body. He went down in a heap. He tried to stand, or at least crawl, but the movement triggered another blast, and he went down for good in a cloud of arcing electricity. 

Steve tapped at his earpiece. "Sam—"

" _Way ahead of you_ ," Sam replied just as he came roaring overhead on his wings. He strafed the trio of oncoming soldiers, forcing them to take cover. As he turned, coming around for another pass, the APCs opened fire with their roof-mounted heavy machine guns. Sam dove, racing for the cover of the nearest warehouse.

A brilliant flash lit up the area as a jagged lightning bolt slashed down from the sky and enveloped the first APC and its gun. The lightning arced into the next two vehicles as well, frying the guns' fire control systems. Thor arrived a second later, landing heavily a few yards in front of Bucky's prone form and bringing Mjolnir down with a mighty roar. The impact cracked the ground, sending an electrified shockwave out that flipped the vehicles and the remaining HYDRA soldiers end over end and out of the fight.

Sam landed near Steve, retracting his wings and kneeling down to inspect the electric weapon. "Does it hurt?"

Steve growled in response. Sam grinned. "Hang in there. I'm gonna try and pull it out...." When Sam's gloved fingers pulled, however, the device buzzed and sent another cascade of energy through Steve's body. Sam hissed, yanking his hand away. "Damn! I think it's got a failsafe or something."

"The same here," Thor called over, kneeling over Bucky's prone form. "I fear trying to use force to remove it will only injure them further. We need Stark."

" _Did I hear my name?_ " Tony's voice came over the comms. 

"We can do nothing for them here," Thor said. "We must withdraw."

" _I'll pick them up. Tony can you give us some cover?_ " Clint cut in. 

" _Of_ course _I can, what kind of question is that? You know, guys, I kinda feel like ever since that business with the Mandarin, you think I've lost my edge or something..._ " 

Sam rolled his eyes and helped Steve to his feet, though even while trying to limit his movement they triggered another discharge that almost put Steve back on the ground. Thor faired better. He simply lifted Barnes completely in his arms and moved to join Sam near their original hiding place amongst the crates and drums. 

" _I mean, was it the surgery?_ " Tony continued, even as he engaged another isolated group of HYDRA soldiers. " _Because I'm fully recovered from that. And, really, just the fact that I don't have the magnet in my chest anymore means I'm actually a stronger part of the team, since I don't have that lingering...I don't want to say vulnerability, but..._ " 

The Quinjet arrived over them a moment later. Clint kept it hovering just low enough for them to board without him having to land. Sam guided Steve up the ramp to the closest seat, near the back, then quickly grabbed their duffel bags. Thor strode past and gently laid Bucky on the retractable emergency stretcher Stark had installed in the center of the passenger compartment. 

Natasha lingered nearby for a moment, looking at Barnes, then moved back to sit beside Steve. "You okay?"

"Had worse," Steve muttered, trying to stay as still as possible as the jet gained altitude. His eyes fell back on Bucky, who hadn't moved since getting hit. 

Natasha followed his gaze, then looked back with a faint smile. "He'll be fine. He's had worse, too."

Iron Man flew in through the open loading ramp and landed with a heavy clank. His faceplate rose as the ramp closed. "See? I am perfectly capable of fighting hordes of hostile HYDRA hooligans all on my own."

"Never doubted you, Tony." Clint called back from the cockpit. 

Stark frowned, obviously considering a comeback before Sam preempted the usual post-battle banter. "Tony, a little help?"

Eyes dropping to Steve's side, Tony's face lit up at the new challenge. He lowered his faceplate and kneeled down to examine the electrical nuisance. "Hm. Yeah. Pressure and motion sensors. Voltage level seems like it was amplified...the relays aren't handling it well. Looks like someone modified these things especially for you and Rick Allen over there."

"Can you _remove_ it?" Sam asked. 

"Sure," Tony said brightly. "I think." He stood and opened the Iron Man armor, stepping out and retrieving a tool kit from one of the overhead cabinets. With a small magnifying light in one hand and a five inch spudger in the other, Tony knelt down beside Steve and tinkered with the device for a few minutes. "Okay. I'm ready. Um, this will hurt you more than it does me, Cap."

Steve sighed. "I'm used to that. Go ahead, Tony."

"Okay, on three. Ready? One—" Tony disengaged the device, sending a relatively mild shock through Steve. Once the offending weapon was no longer in contact with skin, it powered down and went offline.

Steve sagged in relief. "Thanks."

Tony shot him a lopsided grin and stood, moving to Bucky's side. Steve followed, grabbing the overhead handholds to steady himself. He was already feeling the effects of the exhausting day, but he wasn't free to rest just yet. Not until Bucky was out of the woods. 

Barnes was unconscious on the stretcher. Tony plucked the first stun device off easily. Never having penetrated Bucky's armor, it had already gone inert. The second, wrapped around the cybernetic arm, was another story. Tony examined it using a handheld scanner. "What do think, J?"

" _It appears that feedback from the device is creating an electrostatic pulse through the metallic components of Sergeant Barnes' arm_." JARVIS replied. " _The disruptive effects on his nervous system are severe_."

"He's in pain?" Sam translated.

" _Considerable pain, I'm afraid. Unfortunately, my scan indicates that any attempt to remove the device may cause a cascade effect. It is inadvisable to attempt any removal under present conditions_."

Tony was frowning, but didn't argue. "Yeah, we need to get him to the Tower."

"You _can_ help him, right?" Steve asked quietly. 

"Yes," Tony replied. "But, I might need some help. J, get Hill on the line, would you?"

" _Of course, sir_."

Maria Hill's voice filtered through the cabin speakers a moment later. " _This is Hill_."

"Maria..." Tony began, dragging out the syllables of her name as he always did before asking her about her past with S.H.I.E.L.D.. "Do any of your former co-workers have any experience working with cybernetics? Specifically HYDRA-built cybernetics?"

There was a brief pause on the other end before Hill answered. " _Yes, I think so_."

"Are they available for a house call?"

" _Shouldn't be a problem. I'll make a phone call_."

JARVIS cut in. " _Sir, a low-band radio signal has just begun broadcasting from inside the passenger compartment. The signal is emanating from Sergeant Barnes' belongings. A computer tablet, I believe_." 

Steve and Sam walked to the rear of the plane and opened Bucky's duffel. Most of the equipment inside was weapon-related. They found the tablet tucked into one end of the bag, behind some protein bars and a half-empty water bottle. Steve swiped the screen. There was no password. A list of files appeared, most in Russian. He handed it to Tony, who looked it over quickly. 

"Here we go," Tony said, tapping a panel on the back of the tablet. "Homing beacon. Probably how they managed to track your boy all the way out of Ukraine."

"We should destroy it." Thor said, eyeing the device suspiciously. 

"We don't know what's in those files," Steve warned. He didn't want to go poking in Bucky's business, any more than he needed to, and he didn't want to throw away something that might be useful. "Can we copy them without copying the beacon?"

"No problem." Tony said. "The beacon is hardware. J?"

" _Already uploaded, sir. I've created a private account for Sergeant Barnes' use_." 

Tony handed the tablet back to Steve. "Wanna do the honors?"

Steve stared at it for a moment. "Where are we, Barton?"

"Over the Carpathians. We'll be out of Romanian airspace in a minute."

Steve glanced at Sam. "Let's jettison it. Our 'friends' might enjoy combing some snow-covered mountains for a few days."

TBC

A/N: _Season 2 of Agents of Shield revealed that HYDRA is still using leftover SHIELD quinjets._

 _Some have mentioned to me that they thought Natasha killed Jack Rollins in Pierce's office. I don't know how the movie wanted us to interpret it, but until we see him buried...._

идиот _is as close as the internet could get me to "idiot" in Russian._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_New S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters_  
 _Code Name: The Playground_  
 _Undisclosed Location_

 

"I hope you don't mind flying coach, Jemma. We're stretched a little thin financially right now." Director Coulson said, skimming through a stack of reports.

"That'll be fine, sir. Is there anything else you can tell me about the assignment?" Simmons asked. 

"I'd prefer to let Stark and Captain Rogers fill you in when you get there. It's a...delicate matter."

"Of course."

"Bring a coat," Coulson said, looking up from his paperwork. "It's snowing in New York. And tell Stark you already have a job. He's been snatching up former S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists for months."

"Yes, sir." Simmons smiled brightly, moving away from the desk but stopping when she reached the door. "Well, let me check out the pay differential, first."

Coulson smiled back. "Of course."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_1 August 1944_  
 _Reichsgau Wartheland_  
 _10 Kilometers Southeast of Chodzież, Poland_

 

"Pass me up one of those sandwiches?" Juniper whispered from his perch at the top of the hill. 

"You just had one, Junior." Pinky Pinkerton chided. 

"I'm hungry. I missed lunch."

"You eat like you're bloody starving," Falsworth retorted. 

"My mama says I'm a growing boy."

"You miss that convoy and I'll have you peeling potatoes for the rest of the war," Bucky said.

"I didn't miss the last one, Sarge, Happy did."

"Bullshit!"

"Language," Steve admonished, shooting Peggy an apologetic glance. Peggy just looked amused. 

"Sorry, Cap." Sam said. The other commandos around the fire snickered. 

"Saint Stevie never cursed a day in his life," Bucky stage whispered, then snapped his fingers and looked over at Steve. "Except that one time. And that other time. Oh, and that _other_ time."

"Which time was that Sarge?" Junior called down.

"Hush it, kids!" Dum Dum hissed. "Cap's trying to tell a story."

Steve rolled his eyes. The Commandoes had been hiding there in a thicket of trees since the day before, waiting for a HYDRA logistics officer to pass by on the road, as he was scheduled to do.

The Soviet summer offensive was crushing the German 6th Army, but a steady supply of advanced HYDRA weapons to the front was hammering Marshal Rybalko's tank divisions, and the Soviets had appealed to Eisenhower for assistance in cutting HYDRA's supply line in that area. Eisenhower had turned to the S.S.R., and so Colonel Phillips had charged the Commandoes with putting the HYDRA munitions factory out of commission. They only needed to find it. Peggy's intel said that the officer due to pass by on the road was the man to lead them to it.

"You were saying, Steve?" Peggy said, curled comfortably on his right arm. She didn't often come on these kinds of missions, but she knew the target, and the interrogation couldn't wait for a return trip to London.

"Right," Steve picked up where he'd left off when Junior had so rudely interrupted. "So, at this point, we haven't seen Bucky in hours. Dum Dum and I are searching the tents, and here comes Phillips down the row. We say hello and keep moving, he heads for his tent. He gets halfway through the door and stops. Next thing we hear is him yelling—"

"Do the voice." Bucky said, poking a stick into the fire and trying to sound disinterested. 

"I'm not gonna do the voice." Steve said.

"You gotta do the voice." Dum Dum agreed. 

"It isn't as funny without the voice, Captain." Falsworth added.

Peggy squeezed his arm. "Do the voice, Steve."

Steve sighed. "Fine. Phillips sticks his head in the tent and we hear—" Steve cleared his throat. " _Sergeant Barnes! What the hell are you and this poor girl doing in my tent?_ "

Bucky broke down laughing, as did Dugan and the other senior Commandos who'd been there. Peggy hid her face in Steve's sleeve to preserve her decorum. 

"Bucky comes out of the tent, his pants are gone, his shirt's hanging open, and poor Vicki Marlowe was—"

"She was wearing less," Bucky muttered, taking a drink from his canteen as another round of laughter coursed through the group. 

Steve couldn't hold back his laughter either. "Bucky looks Phillips straight in the eye and says—"

"Cap! Two trucks and a staff car, coming 'round the curve!" Junior cried from above them.

Bucky grabbed his rifle, all mirth abandoned. "All right, fellas. You know the plan. Move out!"

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Present Day_  
 _Avengers Tower, Medical Wing_  
 _New York City_  
 _6:05 PM, Local Time_

 

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, resting one arm on the mattress near Bucky's feet. _James' feet_ , he corrected himself. That was going to take some getting used to. He couldn't remember the last time Bucky had willingly let someone call him James. 1934?

Tony, Bruce and Agent Simmons had gotten the stun device off of Bucky's arm, though it had taken a couple of hours to do so without damaging the circuitry further. The arm still wasn't functional—which might not have been a bad thing, since Steve didn't know what kind of reaction he was going to get if Bucky woke up in a strange hospital bed, hooked up to four different monitors.

_When._ When _he wakes up_. 

Agent Simmons had been quite confident that James was, in fact, just suffering from exhaustion. With the exception of his arm, James' injuries were already healed.

Steve was curious about that. He knew that Zola's experiments had enhanced James almost to Steve's level—perhaps better in some areas, given how close their two fights had been in Washington—but he didn't know how far that extended. As far as minor wounds went, James healed much more quickly than an ordinary human being, but not quite as fast as Steve. He was torn on how to proceed, though. He wanted to know, but he didn't want James to feel like a lab rat. 

Beyond a physical examination prior to removing the stun weapon, and a CT scan afterward, Steve had forbidden any further tests until they got James' permission. Simmons had objected, but Tony knew the whole story and backed Steve's decision. Now, Steve just needed to _get_ James' permission, which meant getting him to stay, which meant convincing him that he was safe...and finding a reason for him to stay.

That last one had earned him a slap to the back of the head from Sam. _He's got a reason to stay, dumbass_. Steve hoped Sam was right. 

They hadn't talked about it much in the last few months, and now that James was in front of him, he didn't know how to broach the subject. Steve had known something was going on with Bucky back during the war, and hadn't acted on it. If he had, they might have been more careful, might have kept him off that train....

James muttered something in his sleep. Steve started at the sudden change, and leaned forward. It didn't seem to be a nightmare, just a dream. He could only make out every couple of words, but something caught his attention. The words were getting louder as James came closer to consciousness. 

Steve sat and listened, trying to place what had captured his attention. He heard a name go by, in with some incoherent ideas, but definitely a familiar name. James was getting closer to waking up, and Steve just couldn't resist. He cleared his throat, and tried to recreate his old Chester Phillips impression from the war. " _Sergeant Barnes! What the hell are you and this poor girl doing in my tent?_ "

James' eyes snapped open, and he jackknifed upright in the bed. "Just giving Vicki Marlowe a tour of the front, sir!"

Steve smothered a laugh, holding up a contrite hand when James' confused gaze locked onto him. "S-sorry! I couldn't help it."

"Where...?" James frowned at him, looking around the room. As soon as his eyes landed on the wire leads on his chest and arms, though, James' confusion morphed into panic. "No...no, no, no!" 

He flailed, ripping the thin wires free and trying to get out of the bed. His metal arm raised, but being unable to control it properly, James couldn't grip the handrail and the weight of the useless limb tipped him over. He floundered and slipped off the bed, landing hard on the infirmary floor, tangled in the sheet.

Steve rushed around the foot of the bed, dropped to his knees in front of James and tried to steady him, all mirth forgotten. "Hey! James! Look at me!" 

When the clearly frightened eyes locked onto his, Steve calmed his voice. "Listen. You're safe. We're in New York. You were hurt. This is an infirmary, not a lab, okay?"

James stared hard at him for a moment, clearly flashing back to another time and place, then released a shuddering breath. "Stevie?"

Steve pulled James upright, and wrapped both arms around him, burying James' face in the crook of his neck. 

"You're okay, Buck." he said, forgetting for a moment that he'd been asked not to use that nickname. "You're gonna be okay."

James was silent, but suddenly his flesh and blood arm snaked around Steve's back and squeezed, returning the embrace fiercely. " _Steve...._ "

Steve felt moisture against his neck, and realized that James was crying. He pulled Barnes closer, fighting against his own swimming vision. "I got you, buddy. Took me a while, but I got you...."

They sat in that position, unmoving, for a long time, neither relinquishing his grip on the other. Steve closed his eyes against his own tears. He wasn't sure if they were crying for what they'd lost, or for what they'd finally found. Maybe it was all the same thing.

He doubted either of them really knew.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower_  
 _New York City_  
 _1:30 PM, Local Time_

 

"You don't have to do this if you're not ready."

James shrugged, glancing at Steve and hugging his metal arm against his body. He was wearing one of Steve's shirts, a white button down that was only draped over his left arm. "I need my arm. I don't have a choice."

Steve grimaced. "You always have a choice. We're not going to force you to do anything, here." 

"You don't have to coddle, me." James snapped back, sharper than he intended. At Steve's chastised look, James tried to soften the blow. "But...thanks."

Steve just nodded. 

"I can handle a little poking and prodding," James said quietly.

They'd tried to fix the arm themselves in the infirmary. James knew a few tricks that usually worked, and he'd been trained in a reset move where he rotated the arm 360 degrees in its socket, which triggered a reboot of both the circuit relays and the mechanical servos. He'd had to do it during the fight with Natalia in Washington, and it had worked there. Unfortunately, HYDRA's stun weapons packed a more powerful punch than the Widow's stingers, and had done a thorough job crippling the arm's inner workings. He needed Stark's expertise, even if it meant voluntarily stepping into a lab and letting people— 

_Stop thinking about it_.

He glanced at Steve, who was trying to appear nonchalant and doing an incredibly poor job of it. "I, um, thought about what you asked me yesterday."

"Yeah?" Steve looked at him, visibly struggling to keep his face neutral. 

James nodded. "I think you're right. I need to lay low for a while. Leaving New York right now might not be a good idea."

It was what Steve wanted to hear, James could have seen that in the dark. But, Steve, predictably, played it off. 

"That's...good. I'm glad we can help."

The elevator glided to a halt, and there was a _ding_ as the doors slid open. Steve started to step out, but James raised his good arm and blocked the door. He met his old friend's questioning look briefly, but then dropped his gaze to the floor. "Stevie...are you _sure_ you want to get involved with all this? Being around me is dangerous. I— _I'm_ still dangerous."

Steve stared for a moment, until a small smile formed on his face. "Seventy years and you're still worrying about _me_?"

"Somebody has to," James replied softly, but he couldn't share Steve's joviality. 

"Let's just worry about getting you fixed up, right now," Steve said, gently nudging James' arm off the door. "We can both worry about the rest later."

James followed him off the elevator and down the hallway. He could see the floor-to-ceiling windows of the outer ring of the building at either end of the hall, but where they walked was far from prying eyes. He found himself mentally cataloging every door, light fixture, camera and sign. He knew how many steps they were from the elevator and the approximate distance to the stairwell door. 

It was ingrained. It was what he was, a predator, an assassin. A killing machine. Lukin's words haunted him. 

_You will never undo what we have made you_.

_We never forced you to do anything. We never needed to_. 

_You are a killer. You were a killer when those men found you in the river_. 

_You were a monster long before Karpov—_

"This is it." Steve said as they stopped at a door marked TRN-515. He knocked lightly and pushed the door open. 

Inside, the room was much like every other laboratory James had seen: computers, cabinets, tables, sterile tools. A slightly reclined chair sat in the middle of the room, with a hinged arm holding a bright lamp and more equipment James couldn't identify attached along the sides.

Stark was adjusting some kind of implement, and a young woman was standing nearby. Jemma Simmons, James assumed. James didn't know her apart from what little Steve had told him. She was supposedly a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent—though Steve had his doubts about the "former" part—and a doctor with degrees in fields Steve couldn't pronounce. She had familiarity with cybernetics, through some indeterminate experience with other unwilling HYDRA subjects. 

Having finally arrived there, James couldn't bring himself to step through the door. The last operational lab he'd been in had been the bank vault in Washington. The memory of his last wipe had come back a few months earlier—it wasn't something he was eager to relive, even though rationally, he knew Stark wasn't like his handlers.

"You okay?" Steve whispered. 

James turned to him, mind spinning through a thousand different reasons to run away. "What?"

"You're sweating."

James took a breath, struggling to compose himself. _It's just a room_. "I'm fine."

"You want me to wait out here?"

"No!" James said quickly, before catching himself and taking another breath. "I mean...you can stay. I don't mind."

He forced himself to step inside. Stark and Simmons were waiting patiently, and were polite enough to pretend not to hear what he and Steve had been saying. Simmons smiled brightly, though he could tell it was a little forced. 

"Sergeant Barnes, I'm happy to see you up and around."

"She's new," Stark said. "She doesn't know you guys from the forties have nine lives."

James ignored Stark's attempt at humor. He nodded toward his arm. "Can you fix it?"

"We think so." Simmons replied, seemingly unfazed by his bluntness. "We need to perform a more thorough examination than we could while you were unconscious. With your permission, of course."

He nodded. Stark motioned to the chair. "Have a seat."

"Oh, remove your shirt, please." Simmons added. 

James shrugged out of the shirt and lowered himself onto the chair. Simmons gasped slightly before she caught herself. James glanced at her; she was staring at the scarred seam between his chest and the cybernetic shoulder

Simmons recovered quickly. "My apologies, Sergeant. I shouldn't stare. I must say, given the level of damage, your healing factor is remarkable."

"James, we need to start with a full scan of your arm and shoulder," Stark said, moving the proceedings along. "It's non-invasive. You won't feel a thing."

James nodded and looked away. He didn't know what he would feel, but he knew he wanted to be somewhere else. 

"JARVIS, do the honors? Detail down to the micrometer, and I need an exploded view as well."

" _Of course, sir. The initial scan will take approximately ten minutes to complete. Sergeant Barnes, if at any time you become uncomfortable, please let me know_."

James frowned toward the ceiling. "Um...thanks."

"Takes a little getting used to, doesn't it?" Steve said quietly, rolling a stool over beside the chair and sitting down.

James resisted the urge to shrug. "His old man built a car that could hover. A robot isn't that big of a stretch."

"A.I., not a robot. Wait, you saw that car?" Tony piped up behind him.

"Howard showed off a prototype at the 1943 World Expo. We saw it the night before Bucky shipped out for England." Steve said.

"The night you signed up to be a lab rat," James muttered. He saw the light from one of Stark's holograms floating in midair, displaying the results of the scan. A small image of his arm was slowly taking shape beside him. He ignored it and focused on Steve.

"It's in storage." Tony said, pausing in between sentences while he worked. "Dad built a new model after the war. I worked on the original for a few years, but the power system never worked right. Doctor Simmons, do you see that?"

"Looks like a neural relay." Simmons replied. "Amazing work for the time period...although I'm not sure what the time period actually _was_. Sergeant, do you happen to know when you were given this...um...I mean—"

"I don't know," James said, sparing her the need to put " _when did HYDRA mutilate you?_ " into words. "But, from what Zola said, this was at least the third version." He looked up at Steve, whose expression had darkened at the scientist's name. "We need to talk about that, by the way."

Steve gave him a look tinged with uncertainty. "About Zola?"

James nodded, lips twisting into a snarl at the thought of the evil bastard. "I want him."

Steve, far from arguing as James expected, nodded. "You and me, both."

"They go from making doe eyes at each other to plotting revenge together," Stark quipped to Simmons. "They don't show ya that on the History Channel."

Stark pulled opened a panel on the back side of his shoulder, causing James to stiffen involuntarily. The plates along his forearm opened and shut spasmodically. 

_The procedure has already started_....

_He's unstable, erratic_...

James took a shuddering breath and tried to force himself to relax. _They're not HYDRA...they're not HYDRA_....

"See this right here?" Stark said, poking one of his tools into the open panel. James squeezed his eyes shut, resisting with all his might the urge to swing his arm out and end the experiment permanently. _It's not an experiment_.

_At this point, he's barely even human, anymore_.

_They're not HYDRA_....

A warm hand suddenly slid under his fingers, wrapped around his hand and squeezed. James blinked, looking up to see Steve had shifted closer. He nodded slightly, and tried to focus his thoughts. It wasn't the past, anymore. He wasn't being prepped for a mission. He wasn't about to have his memory wiped. Steve was there, Steve's friend was helping fix his arm. That was all. 

He pushed Stark out of his mind and zeroed in on Steve instead. James felt that pull again. The inexorable tug of gravity that seemed to keep drawing him and Steve Rogers together, no matter the time or place. After fighting it for so long...he felt like he was home. 

Steve was looking uncomfortable. "Tony, maybe we should take a break."

James shook his head, squeezing back on Steve's hand. "No. Let him work. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Steve said quietly. 

"I can do this."

Steve looked helplessly across James, toward Stark. James flinched when one of the tools touched something sensitive in his arm. He did his best to hold still. 

"Hey, James? Can you look at this?" Stark said. 

James just shook his head. He couldn't look. Maybe he'd made a mistake coming there. It was too hard to separate memory from reality—

"James, buddy...I know you're having a hard time, but the sooner you look at this, the sooner we can be done." Stark said, speaking carefully. 

Looking at Steve, who looked hopeful—and God, when _didn't_ he look hopeful?—James bit his lip and turned so he could face Stark and Simmons. Stark used one hand to rotate a glowing three-dimensional projection of the cybernetic arm. 

"James, could you move your fingers, one at a time?" Simmons asked calmly. 

He complied. Stark pointed to the hologram. "See? Watch what happens when you do that."

James looked. He saw the servos move, one at a time, and the chain reaction that moved down his arm when he tried to move each finger.

"Now, in order: make a fist, then turn your wrist, and then bend your elbow slowly." Simmons said. "See that? The arm actually flexes and changes shape, just like a natural limb." 

The small changes in the projection caught James' attention, and he repeated the motion. It was interesting, he had to admit. He grimaced when he tried to bend his elbow, though. Several points in the display flashed red. 

"Feedback," Stark said. "Sensors inside detect a malfunction and send a micro-electric pulse up through the relays and into your nervous system."

Simmons pointed out the changes in the display for him. "In that sense, you can actually _feel_ through the prosthetic. It both gives you remarkable control and prevents you from injuring yourself."

"And your current injury all stems..." Stark picked up her explanation smoothly. "from this little guy right here." He pointed to a small, square object inside the projection, about midway between the elbow and shoulder joint. "That relay stopped working when the stun gun hit you."

"Can you replace it?" Steve asked, watching the display. 

Stark shook his head, but addressed Barnes directly. "Don't have to. It's incredible, really, how resilient these components are. All that's really wrong is that that electric pulse triggered an overload sensor in the relay. It locked to stop you from hurting yourself, as odd as that might seem since it knocked you out. Now, hold still, okay?"

James braced himself, wrapping his metal fingers around the arm of the chair to keep himself from moving. Stark slid a thin metal probe into the open panel on James' shoulder and carefully guided it through the maze of circuitry. The hologram showed the probe as a bright white line, so that Stark could see precisely where it was. A moment later, the probe touched a contact on the edge of the relay, and James' arm unlocked. 

He gasped as a surge of sensation raced up his arm and into his body. Stark slowly removed the probe and closed the panel. "Good as new."

James flexed his hand, then bent his elbow. The pain was gone, and his arm seemed to be back to full working condition. He glanced up at Stark and Simmons, and smiled. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Stark shrugged. "You probably want to polish that up. I think I have some Armor-All down in the garage...."

"Tony," Steve admonished. The billionaire stared back innocently. 

Simmons rolled her eyes at him, but focused on James. "How do you feel?"

"Better," James said, testing out his range of movement. Everything seemed to be back to normal. 

"If you don't mind," Simmons added. "We'd like to do a full physical workup on you once you're settled in. Despite our success here, you've still been through a lot, and we need to be certain you're all right."

"Yeah, sure," James said distractedly, still testing his arm. It was funny, really, how much he'd come to rely on the metal monstrosity. One day without it, and he'd felt ridiculously vulnerable. He rose from the chair and pulled the borrowed shirt back on. 

"Thank you, Tony," Steve said, looking almost as relieved as James felt. "Doctor. Thank you so much."

"It was my pleasure, Captain." Simmons replied. "I'm glad we were able to help."

James nodded to them both and headed for the door. Steve followed. "You hungry?"

"Starving." James answered. 

"Believe it or not, they still make Coney dogs." Steve said, grinning. 

James blinked, looking up from his arm. "Really?"

As they exited into the hallway, James heard Stark speak. "So, Doctor, have you ever thought about moving to New York? Our Biochem department is always looking for new talent...."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_1940_  
 _Brooklyn, New York_

 

"It's not too late to take it back, you know."

Bucky looked up from the box he was unpacking. "Take back what?"

"You know, _this_." Steve said. "I don't want to be an imposition."

Sighing, Barnes shook his head and went back to unpacking the clothes. "Is everything you own gray and brown, Rogers? You need some different colors."

"Buck—"

Bucky cut him off. "I'm not taking anything back, Steve."

"Buck, you're twenty-three. You finally moved out on your own. You don't need me tagging along."

Huffing another agitated sigh, Bucky walked the stack of clothes over and thrust them into Steve's arms. "Find a drawer for these."

"Listen—"

" _You_ listen," Bucky said firmly. "You're gonna sleep on the couch tonight, then tomorrow we're going to start looking for a bed. Right now, you need to decide what you want for dinner, because I'm already hungry."

Steve finally relented a little, fidgeting absently with the stack of clothes. "It's Wednesday, Ma always makes spaghet—"

He broke off, and his face sank into that far away look he'd been wearing for two weeks and that Bucky was learning to hate. Steve's mother's death was still an open wound. He pulled Steve into a one-armed hug. "Spaghetti it is, then." He paused. "I miss her, too."

Steve sniffed, but collected himself, burying his feelings as he too often did. "I'll cook it. You always over-boil it." 

"Fine, but I'm making the sauce. Yours tastes like ketchup."

A faint hint of a smile pulled at Steve's lip, so Bucky considered it a victory. "Hey, maybe my dad still has that old Army cot in the attic."

Rogers took the stack of clothes over to the dresser, and started squeezing them into the space Bucky had cleared for him. "You ought to be looking for a girl, not babysitting me."

"I already got a girl," Bucky grinned, holding his hand out to about Steve's head level. "She's blond, about yea high and never shuts up. Nag, nag, nag." 

That broke Steve's morose mood completely. He turned, grinning and made a fist. "You know what, Barnes..."

"She's abusive, too," Bucky continued, heading for the kitchen. "Hurry up, ya punk, I'm hungry."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Present Day_  
 _Brooklyn, New York_  
 _Former S.H.I.E.L.D. Safehouse_  
 _4:00 PM, Local Time_

 

"Why here?"

Steve looked over at James, who was scanning the room like he expected enemies to pop out from behind the curtains, and shrugged. "It's quiet. It's Brooklyn. Actually, it's just a short walk from where we used to live."

James turned and gave him the look that Steve had quickly learned to translate as _stop coddling me_. He gave in with a small sigh. "Okay. We need a place where you can...put your life back together without people getting in the way. This is private. It'll just be you and me. No one outside our friends knows where we are."

He emphasized "our friends," in case there was any confusion there. James had handled Tony pretty well, and seemed comfortable around Sam. Sooner or later, he'd deal with the others on a more regular basis, and he needed to feel that he could trust them. The place was small—two bedrooms, a bath, a living room and a kitchen with a dinette—but it was perfect for what they needed.

Barnes was examining the area further, moving down the hallway toward the bedrooms like a predator on the prowl. "What's wrong with Stark's Big Ugly Building?"

Steve smiled. James wasn't a fan of the architecture either, apparently. "The Tower's fine, but it's too visible. Everyone knows about the Avengers. The news watches for the jet coming and going, and the paparazzi is always camped out looking for Tony to do something they think is entertaining."

"The what?"

"Hmm? Oh. Paparazzi. Reporters, looking to take pictures of famous people. They tend to pry into people's private lives."

Barnes emerged from the hallway, stopped just inside the living room and folded his arms. "What was this place before?"

Steve hesitated. "What do you mean?"

Barnes arched one eyebrow. "There are twenty apartments in this building, and this is the only one with anyone living in it. There are fourteen cameras between here and the front door, and a hidden stairwell down the hall. What _was_ this place?"

There really wasn't getting anything past James. Steve relented. "It used to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse. They would keep people of interest here, defectors, sometimes prisoners that they didn't want seen on the street. When the agency fell, Stark caught wind of it, and he bought the property. Thought it could come in handy, some day. JARVIS made sure everything about it was deleted off the Internet, so this place might as well not exist. The cameras aren't on. There are no guards, no one watching anything here. Like I said, it's just you and me."

James stared at him for a moment, then nodded. He took in his surroundings more casually. "Stevie...I know you think you have to protect me from everything, but you really don't. You want to stay here, we will, but...please don't lie to me."

Steve took that in, then chuckled softly, pulling his coat off and draping over the couch. "I keep messing this up, don't I? Sam says I push too hard."

"You _do_ push too hard," James said, stepping closer and sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. "You always do. Wilson doesn't need to worry, I can handle _you_. Just be honest with me."

Steve perched himself on the arm of the couch. "Look, James, I know you don't really want to be here—"

"You're wrong," James said, taking an almost identical position on an armchair. "I don't _deserve_ to be here. I'm a killer, Steve, and that's never going to change. The sooner you realize that, the better off you're going to be."

"I think you're wrong about that." Steve replied easily. "Give me time to prove it to you."

Barnes considered that for a moment. Then he met Steve's gaze. "One condition."

"Name it."

"Tell me what the rest of the strings are."

"Strings?"

James frowned. "I know about the deal you made, Steve. It was stupid."

Steve deflated a little. He hadn't wanted to dive into all that right away. But, James was right, they needed to be honest. "It was the only way to keep you out of prison. I knew I was going to find you, but I needed help, and I needed to know that you'd be safe when I got you home."

"The Army was never going to let you go," James said softly, shaking his head. "I used to see it in Phillips' eyes. They made you, and you _belonged_ to them. Crashing that plane was probably the best thing you could have done." 

"Funny how things work out," Steve replied. Barnes was probably right. He'd thought about it, especially when he was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. and butting heads with Fury so often. He'd felt it there, too, that sense of not being in control of himself.

"And now you've walked right back to them," James continued sadly. "All because of me."

"I could have made a hundred deals, and it still wouldn't be enough to pay you back—"

"You don't owe me anything." James snapped. They sat in silence for a moment, then he pushed himself off the arm and dropped into the chair, chewing on his metal knuckles. "I'm the one that owes _you_." 

Steve propped his elbows on his knees. "Maybe this is why we never used to keep score. We're not any good at this."

James shot him a sideways glance, then grunted in agitation. "Yeah, maybe." They stayed silent for a few more moments, before James spoke again. "Anyway, I know there are strings attached to this deal you made. Let's get it over with."

Nodding, Steve slid down onto the closest couch cushion. "I called General Rayburn yesterday. He's got all your paperwork ready, you just have to meet with a lawyer and sign off on everything."

"Sign off on what?"

"You have to see a counselor for a psychiatric evaluation. Probably have to do it every week for a while. I think you can request Sam, if you want someone you know."

James didn't acknowledge the part about Sam. "What else?"

"You have to turn state's evidence on HYDRA, tell the FBI and the Pentagon everything you know. I've been working with an agent—"

"Mike Howard, I know." James said. "Not a problem." 

Steve frowned. "You'll have to tell them everything, James. In detail. They're gonna ask you a lot of questions you probably won't want to answer."

"I can do it."

"James—"

"I can do it for _you_." He said firmly. "What else?"

"Nothing." Steve said. James glanced at him. "I swear. That's all."

James looked at him for a beat, then nodded once. "Okay."

"I'm not forcing anything on you, James. I meant that." Steve said cautiously.

James held his gaze again for a moment, then looked away. "I want the bedroom on the right."

Steve laughed, caught off guard by the subject change. "Why?"

"It has a better view."

TBC

A/N: _Earth-TRN515 is the Marvel universe of a web-based cartoon series featuring the Avengers and an Avengers Tower that looks much like the one in the movies._

_The younger Howling Commandos were introduced in an episode of "Agent Carter," entitled "The Iron Ceiling."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Present Day_  
 _11 Months After the Fall of S.H.I.E.L.D._  
 _Avengers Tower_  
 _10:00 AM, Local Time_

 

" _Final upload is complete. Scanning files,_ " JARVIS announced.

"We appreciate your help with this, Mr. Stark." Mike Howard said, watching the display as thousands of files flickered by. "The Bureau's computers are good, but it would have taken weeks to go through all this data."

Howard had come to New York at Sam's suggestion, after their most recent round of briefings in Washington. Howard's task force was good at rooting out HYDRA units on U.S. soil, but they'd collected so much physical and electronic intel over the past year that the FBI's already overburdened analytical teams were swamped. 

"Always happy to help Uncle Sam," Tony replied easily, sipping at his smoothie. "Anything in particular that you're looking for?"

"Patterns," Howard said. "HYDRA's new leaders are smart. They've kept their heads down, and we haven't been able to trace the activities of their field units back to any one base. Frankly, we're coming up dry, and Langley hasn't had any luck either."

"Doesn't help that the ringleaders usually commit suicide before we can question them," Sam added. 

"Looks like a lot of the data is encrypted," Maria Hill said, watching JARVIS' progress on her tablet. "It'll take time to break the codes."

" _Indeed, Ms. Hill,_ " JARVIS said. " _However, I have finished scanning the unencrypted files._ "

"What have we got, J?" Stark asked, pulling a stool over to sit beside Hill. 

" _Of the fifteen hundred-forty three unencrypted documents secured by Captain Rogers and Agent Howard's team, six-hundred and seven are logistical memoranda, four-hundred and seventeen are supply and fuel requests, two-hundred and twelve are operational orders, and one-hundred-forty-three are personnel lists. Fifty-five percent of those are in English, twenty-seven percent are in Russian, fifteen percent are in Chinese, and three percent are a mix of Somali, Portuguese and Sokovian._ "

"Anything that might point us toward the leadership?" Howard asked.

" _Analysis of supply requests and operational orders suggests the most common point of origin in North America to be western Pennsylvania. Second most common source is in Central or Eastern Europe. I am triangulating to find more precise locations._ "

"Better than we had when we came here," Howard said, smiling. "Can we have those personnel lists transmitted to Washington?"

" _Of course, Agent Howard._ "

"Make sure Hill gets a copy, J," Tony said, sharing a surreptitious glance with Maria. "I'm sure Cap will want to see them, too."

He knew Steve was working closely with Howard's team, but frankly Tony was less than trusting of any government agency these days, given how deeply HYDRA and A.I.M. had infiltrated them. And, with Steve fully consumed getting Barnes settled, Tony wanted to be sure Steve's federal allies kept him in the loop.

" _There are several anomalous mentions in the memoranda, sir,_ " JARVIS said in a curious tone. 

"Such as?"

" _For example, there are forty-seven uses of the terms "miracle" or "miracles," but I cannot find any contextual evidence to determine the actual meaning of the words. There are five other word choice anomalies, as well._ "

Tony looked at Hill, who shrugged. "Okay. Keep an eye out for that kind of thing in the coded stuff."

" _I will keep a proverbial eye 'peeled' sir._ "

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Fort Hamilton_  
 _United States Army Garrison_  
 _Brooklyn, New York_  
 _11:30 AM, Local Time_

 

"As I'm sure Mr. Hindle will also advise you, Sergeant, you should read everything here before signing. One of the conditions of Captain Rogers' contract with the DoD was that you have final approval on certain items, such as location of counseling center and counselor—from the attached list of specialists with code-word clearance, of course—as well as final approval on the terms of your discharge from active duty and pension." 

James stared at the bewildering array of documents on the table in front of him. The Justice Department deal was the thickest folder, detailing the terms of his immunity, but the counseling packet from the VA was a close second. He was glad Stark had loaned one of his lawyers for the day. He had a feeling he would need Hindle's expertise to navigate some of the forms. His discharge papers, the documentation regarding his POW status and his pension held his attention, though.

"First Sergeant?" he said, glancing up at Steve and raised his eyebrows. "They promoted me?"

It was an understatement. They'd promoted him four grades. His staggeringly large retroactive pension reflected that, as well. 

Steve shrugged. "You were the de facto second hat in the 107th anyway. Phillips always went to you before Ralston."

Lieutenant Ralston had stayed with the 107th when it had been folded into the S.S.R. after Italy, but he never went into the field again. He rode out the rest of the war from Phillips' headquarters in London. James' memories of the Lieutenant personally were vague, but from what little he did recall, he hadn't liked the man. "But, still...."

"General Rayburn was generous enough to make the rank match the role you played," Steve continued. Lowering his voice, he added. "After everything you went through...it's the least they could do."

Captain Osborne, the Army lawyer assigned to go over all of his paperwork with him—and who was noticeably star-struck being in the same room with Captain America—reached into her briefcase. "One more thing—and I apologize for this not being in the files we sent ahead of time, Mr. Hindle—but the General added it at the last minute. Sergeant Barnes, I stress that you are under no obligation, legal or otherwise to agree to this, but General Rayburn has extended another offer to consider: rather than signing your DD-214s right away, he wanted to know if you wished to join Captain Rogers and his FBI task force hunting HYDRA. He said you, and I'm quoting here, 'have done such a good job burning a path through the bastards that maybe you'd like being paid to do it.' As I said, it's an offer, not a requirement, and you are completely free to decline if that's your wish."

James looked at Steve, who shrugged, appearing to be as blind-sided by the offer as he was. He looked back at Osborne. "Can I have a minute to look over all this?"

"Of course," Osborne replied. "Take as long as you need."

It ultimately took two hours for James to go over everything with Hindle, while Osborne and Steve chatted at the other end of the table. James noted that Osborne inserted a lot of flirting amongst the chatting, which Steve, as expected, completely missed. James kept one ear on the conversation as Hindle summarized each stack of forms for him. 

The Veterans Affairs paperwork was mostly obligatory. The agreements for accepting psychiatric counseling and consenting to what was no doubt going to be a long, humiliating and painful debriefing by the FBI James signed without a second thought. They were the price for his freedom, and he couldn't help but think that he had gotten off too easy while Steve had sold himself to the Army in James' place. It wasn't fair, even if he wasn't naive enough to still believe in fairness. Steve deserved better, but James also knew it was a done deal. 

It was just one more thing he'd never be able to pay Steve Rogers back for, and there was nothing he could do except play his part and endure any amount of bureaucratic torment the government wanted to inflict on him. 

The last bit of business was the choice between Rayburn's offer and his discharge papers. James glanced down the table. Steve's fight with HYDRA wasn't over. Whatever James thought of himself, he knew his captivity and torture by HYDRA had affected Steve on a deeply personal level. He was still angry, and would probably be angry for a very long time.

Part of him actually wanted to join Steve's little hunting unit. James had, mostly by himself, inflicted a significant amount of damage on HYDRA over the previous ten months. Steve's operation promised to do even more. 

He also knew that Rhodes and Wilson had Steve's back on those missions, despite the unfortunate confluence of events leading up to the fiasco in Ghudaza. Still, James felt that pull again, that need to be wherever Steve Rogers was. He'd always felt it, and would always feel it. He'd fought it tooth and nail for almost a year, but it had still been there. The Army was giving him a chance to fight by Steve's side again, and maybe the satisfaction of being able to watch his back personally. It was a tempting offer. He didn't care about the paycheck. He'd gladly do it for free.

James was also profoundly tired. He was facing a long road of proving that he was no threat to his country and his benefactors, and he held few illusions about whether or not he would succeed at that, despite Steve's unrestrained faith in him. If he failed, his situation might get complicated very quickly.

Steve kept insisting that he needed to worry about himself. He needed to finish recovering his memories, and he needed to find out if he could be the man that his friend kept telling him he was. Perhaps, in the simplest terms, he just needed to be left alone.

The hardest realization he faced was acknowledging that urge to stay at Steve's side, and the possibility that maybe he wasn't worthy of it anymore. Maybe it was simply time to stop running, and face who and what he really was.

James forced himself not to look at Steve. If he did, he'd give in to that pull without a second thought. He kept his eyes on the documents in front of him as he signed his name a final time.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower_  
 _New York City_  
 _6:00 PM, Local Time_

 

"Well, the brass won't be happy to see this." Rhodey said as he walked around his newly repaired—and no longer red, white and blue—armor. Tony had been commissioned to repair the Iron Patriot suit after the damage it had sustained in Ghudaza, and after three weeks had finally proclaimed it ready for service again. But, he had also restored the suit's look to its earlier, more intimidating black and silver War Machine configuration.

"It's better this way," Tony said, focusing on one of his new projects while Rhodey completed his inspection. "Back to basics. Classic Coke."

Rhodey couldn't really complain, as he preferred this look as well, but he needed to be on record objecting, in case any of his superiors asked. "I think they wanted it kept the way it was. They've sunk a lot of PR money into the 'Iron Patriot' concept." 

"I think it's time we left all of A.I.M.'s ideas behind us." Tony sniffed disdainfully. 

" _Whoever_ originated the new look," Rhodey persisted. "The administration approved it, and they wanted to keep it that way. You at least could have kept the paint scheme. The paint scheme was cool."

Tony just looked at him. 

"Okay, the paint scheme was awful." Rhodey admitted. "I'm just—"

"Your objection is duly noted," Tony said. "You can blame it on me when the bosses see it."

"Thank you, that's all I ask." 

"Mm-hmm. You staying for dinner?"

Rhodey crossed his arms and wandered over to Tony's work bench. "Sure. I'm not going anywhere until Steve is ready to head out with the FBI team."

Tony shifted something from the left side of the hovering diagram to the middle. "Yeah, I wouldn't hold your breath. He's still busy with Barnes. Steve's been waiting for this for a year; you'd have to blast him out of that apartment."

"How's that going, by the way?" Rhodey asked. "The roommate situation."

"Barnes finished filling out all the paperwork Tuesday. He's a free man. I think they've been clothes shopping all week. Kid only had like three shirts in that duffel bag. His big government debriefing and complimentary public humiliation is tomorrow."

"Not all that public," Rhodes pointed out. "Just Mike Howard and some Intel weenie from the Pentagon."

Tony frowned. "Having been in that chair answering a lot of the same questions, I can tell you that two people is public enough. And, my captivity was only a couple of months. Barnes has seven decades to comb through, and he was an enemy of the state for most of it."

"Empathy's a new thing for you, isn't it?" Rhodes smirked.

"Trying it on for size. Broadening my emotional horizons. Not sure I like it, either." Tony replied.

Rhodey shook his head. "Look, I hate to be that guy, but are we sure it's safe for him and Steve to be moving in together? Last I checked, he was still a brainwashed assassin who at one time was ordered to kill Captain America."

" _Formerly_ brainwashed. He's much healthier now."

" _Tony_ ," Rhodes said firmly. "Are we _sure_? I mean, this is Steve were talking about."

Stark turned away from the hologram and faced his friend. "Rhodey, what do you want me to say? This is Steve, and this is Steve's long-lost BFF from half a century ago. Do you think any of us will get the time of day out of Cap if we start saying Barnes is a threat?"

Rhodes sighed. "I know, I know. I still think we should keep an eye on them, though. Barnes seems like he's okay, but who knows what kind of goodies the Soviets and HYDRA left in his head?"

"You were there last month in Ghudaza. He's the one who came to us to help break Steve out, remember?"

"And then ran off back to Russia, or wherever, before showing up again needing help. How do we know HYDRA didn't get to him in the meantime?"

Tony shrugged. "I gave Steve a panic button. If something happens, we can race to his rescue."

"A panic button?" Rhodes asked, surprised. At Tony's nod, he added. "How'd that go over?"

"'Bout as well as you'd expect. But, he took it."

Rhodes grunted, but dropped the matter for the moment. Like Tony said, there wasn't much any of them could do once Steve Rogers made up his mind. He just hoped it wasn't all a huge mistake.

Stark glanced at him as though reading his mind. "Don't worry, Cap's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"And what if he can't?"

"That's what he's got us for."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Jacob K. Javits Federal Office Building_  
 _26 Federal Plaza_  
 _Manhattan, New York_  
 _9:00 AM, Local Time_

 

Steve glanced at James again, noting how the metal fingers on his left hand were flexing nervously. "You know, we can put this off another day. Mike would understand."

James glanced back, frowning, and shook his head. "I want to get it over with." 

"You had another nightmare last night." Steve blurted. He needed to say what had been nagging at his mind all morning. 

"I thought we agreed we weren't going to talk about it?" James asked, stiffening slightly.

" _You_ agreed that _you_ weren't going to talk about it," Steve muttered under his breath, knowing Barnes could hear it perfectly. James' comment in Romania that it was better if he didn't sleep was making sense to him now. The nightmares were bad. Very bad.

James sighed softly. "In a minute, I'm going to have to tell my life story to two total strangers. Can we talk about this later?"

Steve frowned, sagging a little. "I'm pushing again."

"Yes." James replied softly.

"Okay," Steve said. "Just...I'm here when you're ready."

James reached over with his right hand and squeezed Steve forearm briefly in a silent _thank you_. 

A moment later, the door to the interrogation room opened, and Agent Howard appeared. "Mr. Barnes, we're set up in here. If you'd step inside, please?"

James nodded once and stood, heading for the door. Steve was right on his heels. As they got to the door, Howard raised a cautioning hand. "Uh, Steve...maybe you should wait out here."

"Excuse me?" Steve asked, frowning as he stopped in his tracks.

"You're too close to this." Howard said. "We need to ask our questions and we need Mr. Barnes to answer them."

Steve bristled. "I won't interfere, Mike. But—"

"Steve," James said, turning toward him abruptly and placing his metal hand against his chest. "I can do this by myself."

"James—"

"You already read the files. You don't need to hear it, too." Barnes said softly. He leaned in, a look of resignation in his eyes and whispered, "This was the deal. This is the price I pay. I can do this."

Steve looked from him to Howard, who looked back, visibly uncomfortable but not relenting. Finally he stepped back. James took a breath and walked into the room. Howard nodded respectfully and followed, closing the door behind him and leaving Steve alone to fume in the hallway.

"He doesn't want to bare his soul in front of you," A voice said from behind him. Steve turned to find Natasha leaning against the wall a few yards away where the hallway turned a corner.

"I won't judge him," Steve said helplessly.

Natasha smiled and lowered herself into the chair James had just vacated. "He knows that. But, it's hard to talk about these things in front of your friends. Especially hard in front of family. He knows you won't think less of him, but he doesn't want to test that belief, either."

"I just want to help," Steve said, moving to sit next to her.

"He knows that, too."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Steve spoke again. "This is...harder than I thought it would be." Before she could reply, he added. "You don't have to say I told you so."

"You're doing fine."

He raised his eyebrows at that. "I feel like I'm screwing up everything. I'm pushing too hard, I'm expecting too much...."

Natasha favored him with a small smile. "Ask Clint sometime about when I came in from the cold. This is what it's like. But, I know from experience that you're doing just fine."

"How can you tell?"

"Has he tried to kill you?"

Steve frowned. "No."

"Ask Clint about that, too." She replied, completely straight-faced. 

Steve stared at her a moment, then a grin spread across his face. "You're pulling my leg."

"It's too easy sometimes."

Steve shook his head, settling back into his chair. All he could do now was wait.

Natasha kept her eyes on the door to the interrogation room. "He hasn't left, Steve. That's how you know. He _wants_ to be here."

Steve didn't reply. He hoped she was right. 

"Does he know you're leaving this afternoon?"

He nodded. "Yeah, we talked about it yesterday. He's going to stay in, try to catch up on what he's missed. I gave him some of the books S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me. I'll only be gone a couple of hours."

"You know Thor's coming back tonight?" She asked. "He's bringing Jane to the Tower for a few days. She's got a fundraiser and he's going with her."

Steve couldn't help but smile. Watching Thor try to fit in with human customs was usually entertaining. "That'll be fun to see."

They spent the next four hours chatting quietly, neither really focused on the conversation but on the closed door across from them. Steve idly wondered about Natasha's past with James. He knew they had one, but she'd been evasive whenever he'd asked, and James hadn't commented at all. Though, he'd noticed a look between them on the few occasions when they had crossed paths. 

Finally, the door opened, and James stepped out into the hallway. He stopped and leaned against the wall, his face pale and his flesh and blood hand shaking slightly. When he saw Natasha, he flinched and looked down at the floor. 

Steve was at his side in an instant. "James?"

"I'm okay."

"You sure?" Steve asked, placing a hand on his metal shoulder to steady him.

"Yeah," James muttered. "Yeah. I just— Some things came up in there that I didn't want to think about. It's— I just need a minute."

Natasha glanced between them, then moved away slowly. "I should go. I'll see you tonight."

Mike Howard exited the room, pausing behind James. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Barnes. I know that wasn't easy. I wish we'd met under different circumstances." He nodded at Steve. "Captain."

The agent walked away. Steve stared hard after him, but rationally he knew Howard had done nothing wrong. As James had pointed out, it was the deal Steve himself had made. James was free to go, as promised. It didn't make the stricken look on Barnes' face any easier to see. "Let's go back to the apartment, get some lunch—"

"You have to get to Washington." James said.

"Look, I can—"

" _Steve_. I'm fine. I...just want to be alone for a while, okay?" 

Steve hesitated, but respected his friend's wishes. "Okay."

James ran his right hand over his face, and steadied himself. "Go. I'll be here when you get back."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Bethesda Terrace, Central Park_  
 _New York City_  
 _2:35 PM Local Time_

 

James drew the collar of his coat up around his ears. He was nestled in a corner where he could see anyone approaching before they saw him. Not that anyone was there. The frigid March wind slicing across the lake guaranteed that he was almost totally alone.

Agent Howard and the Major from the Pentagon had dissected every recorded moment of his decades—long nightmare with HYDRA. He had recounted—in detail—everything he remembered, from his initial capture and torture, to the missions he'd carried out later. They had been especially interested in the most recent events surrounding his service to Alexander Pierce. Not that he knew all that much. Pierce had told him what he needed to know and very little more. Unlike Lukin or Karpov, Pierce hadn't been prone to bragging about his machinations.

His cell phone buzzed again. He wasn't completely alone. 

With a sigh, he pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen. _I have to stop by the Tower on my way back tonight. Want to meet around 7 and get a drink?_

James huffed a laugh. Stevie was the most persistent bastard he'd even met. At least that he could remember. He stared at the message for a few minutes. He'd let three earlier messages go by unanswered, and he was sure Rogers was worried sick about now. _Kid never knows when to quit_.

He opened the small keypad and typed a reply. _Okay_.

He imagined he could feel Steve's relief when the reply went through. He had no idea why Steve Rogers wanted to help him so much. He surely didn't deserve it, anyone could see that.

No, that wasn't right. James knew why Steve didn't give up: because he was a compulsive fixer who demanded that the world should meet his high standards. That coupled with the massive chip on his shoulder had made him a holy terror as a child. That condition had followed him onto the battlefield. 

Now, James found himself under the guns of that compulsion. He wondered how long it would be until Steve realized that he was probably beyond saving.

Surprisingly, he found himself not liking how that notion made him feel. The idea of Steve giving up on him was...nauseating. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to rely on that safety net the past couple of weeks. Steve had reeled him into his orbit again. He doubted Steve himself realized it. It was their nature.

James had offered a token resistance to it since coming back to New York, but he even felt that slipping away. If it would make Steve happy, he'd let it go. Steve deserved a little happiness, and it was the least James could do for all Rogers had done for him. 

He still didn't know if he could do what he knew Steve was hoping he could—be that man from the museum. James had to clear a few more hurdles before he was considered truly free, and so much had changed since the last time he was "Bucky Barnes." A head full of memories wasn't enough. There probably wasn't enough of that man left to salvage.

All he knew was that, for the first time since waking from the nightmare that was the Winter Soldier, James felt like he was home.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Secure Briefing Room 3-B_  
 _The Pentagon_  
 _6:09 PM_

 

"The good news is HYDRA's operations on American soil were dealt a huge blow." 

Steve listened respectfully while General Talbot wound down his briefing. He didn't know the man well, only from the one operation in Canada that they'd worked together on when Talbot was still a colonel. His exploits against HYDRA in the months that followed had earned him a bump to Brigadier General. He was a good commander who seemed to inspire loyalty in the people under him. He tended to lead from the front, a trait which Steve shared. He could also be hardheaded and a bit of a pain in the ass once his mind was made up.

Which, various people had told him, was a trait Steve also shared.

Whatever his personality, though, General Talbot's news was in fact good. HYDRA had been hobbled in recent weeks, first by the death of one of their leaders, Whitehall, in Puerto Rico, and then by infighting amongst the surviving leadership, which had claimed the lives of at least three other major players in the organization. Many of HYDRA's American operatives had perished with Whitehall; many more had scattered after the battle.

A lot had happened while Steve had been recovering.

"So, what's the bad news?" Agent Howard asked from his place beside Steve.

Talbot frowned and tapped a button on his remote control. The images on the screens behind him changed to show new faces, none of which Steve recognized. 

"The bad news operates on several levels." Talbot said, motioning to the screen. "While Whitehall and the others were operating independently, they were taking at least some cues from someone with more influence. This man."

An image of a man in a dark coat, with a shaved head and sporting a monocle over is right eye, expanded so they could see it more clearly. "Strucker. He was once thought to be an obscure S.H.E.I.L.D. research director, but turned out he's an old-school HYDRA cell leader. Virtually nothing about him surfaced in Agent Romanoff's data dump, which makes us thing that Pierce scrubbed him from the agency's databanks."

"Is he here in the States?" Sam asked.

"We don't think so," Talbot shook his head. "All of his communications go through intermediaries. This is actually the only photo we have of him. Every time we think we're close to zeroing in on him, the trail goes cold." 

Steve grimaced. Another dead end. HYDRA was good at maintaining those. "You said there was more bad news?"

"Yes," Talbot said slowly, becoming uncomfortable. "Over the last few months, we've found more and more evidence that HYDRA has been accelerating and expanding its experimentation on human beings."

"For what purpose?" Howard asked. To his credit, he didn't seem surprised. His own experience hunting down HYDRA had been educational. 

A list of names appeared on the screen. Talbot directed their attention to it. "One of the juicier tidbits we recovered from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files was this. They called it 'the Index.' It's a record of human beings that have displayed evidence of superhuman abilities. The list is divided into two categories, 'gifted' and 'enhanced.'

"Gifted means that person was born with special powers. There aren't too many of them, and most of them haven't caused a problem for anyone. Enhanced, on the other hand, are those people who've been given special ability through science and experimentation. You, Captain Rogers, would fit that description. The bad news I mentioned is that HYDRA was using S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources to develop more of those people, and to make existing enhanced persons... _more_ enhanced."

"How many of these enhanced are there?" Howard asked. 

"We don't know," Talbot admitted. "We have one in custody, Carl Creel. He worked for Whitehall. But, there are others out there, and more seem to be appearing. We think Strucker is creating some of these people somewhere."

"How?" Steve asked. 

Talbot shrugged helplessly. "We don't know that, either. But, we know his experiments have a high mortality rate. We've been finding bodies."

Sam appeared disturbed. "I, uh, hate to ask this, General, but how many bodies have you found?"

Talbot looked even more disturbed that Sam. "A _lot_."

Steve cursed under his breath. "Sounds like another Mengele, or Zola."

Taking a breath, Talbot closed his briefing folder. "Well, that's all I've got, gentlemen. For the moment, at least, it looks like HYDRA is down for the count on U.S. soil, so that means your group is looking at smooth sailing, at least for the next few months. I'll be happy to coordinate with you and try to track down the stragglers."

"We appreciate that, General," Howard said, standing. "And I'm sure the Bureau will help with your hunt for Strucker any way it can."

"I appreciate that," Talbot said, standing as well. He extended a hand to Steve. "Captain, a pleasure as always."

With that, the meeting broke up. A few members of the general's staff stayed behind to trade notes with Howard's agents. Sam shifted over and leaned against the table next to Steve's chair. "You don't seem too relieved that we're not going on another road trip."

Steve looked up at him, shaking his head. "I was thinking about Bucky. All the things HYDRA did to him...and they're still doing it. Probably doing even worse things with modern technology." His eyes drifted back to the list on the screen. "It never ends."

"It will end. Someday," Sam said quietly. 

Steve grunted noncommittally. 

Sam smacked his shoulder. "Come on, man. If we head back now, we might make it in time for Thor's dinner."

Steve smiled. Pepper had promised a celebratory feast to welcome Jane back to New York. _All of Thor's big events involve feasts...._

Maybe he could convince James to join them.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower_  
 _New York City_  
 _11:00 PM, Local Time_

 

Steve fidgeted as the elevator rose all too slowly. He was late. Very late. He hated being late. 

Sam seemed amused as he rested against the opposite wall. "Will you relax? JARVIS said he's still here."

"I asked him to meet me here," Steve said. "I didn't mean to throw him in the deep end."

"He was fighting his way out of HYDRA traps _the other day_ ," Sam scoffed. "He can handle food and booze and Thor telling stories. Everyone loves Thor's stories."

Steve threw a sideways glance at him. "Yeah. I know. I just—"

"You _just_ need to stop treating him like he's made of glass. You want to screw this up for real, Steve? Do that. You can't do that to a regular veteran. God only knows how Barnes would react. Especially with it coming from you."

"You're right," Steve said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "You're absolutely right."

"Say that again. I enjoyed hearing that," Sam replied.

"Shut up."

The elevator doors opened, and the sounds of music and laughter immediately flooded the quiet elevator. Sam grinned. "Ha! Not so late after all. Excellent!"

They entered the common area to find Thor holding court. Tony, Pepper, Rhodey and Jemma Simmons were on the sofa nearest the fire place. Clint, Bruce, Maria and Natasha occupied the long sofa opposite Thor, Jane, Eric Selvig, Darcy Lewis and a young man telling a story that sounded to Steve like a part of the Battle of Greenwich. 

Everyone was listening with rapt attention, including, to Steve's surprise, James, who was sitting off to one side, close to the bar.

"So," the young man continued. "Darcy and I were running for our lives, and this...thing, this ice monster from—"

"Jotenheim," Thor supplied helpfully.

"Jotenheim came crashing through, scattering cars, and eating one of the elves! Darcy and I got separated, and by the time I got back to my feet, these four elves were advancing on her. Well, I saw this, and I had to do something! I looked around for a weapon, but there was nothing. Then I noticed that the car beside me was hovering just off the ground. The Convergence was causing the gravity to shift all around us, so, thinking fast, I reached out and grabbed this car by the bumper, and then I—"

Thor leaned over, whispering something into his ear. He nodded and immediately his voice took on a more dramatic tenor. "And then, _with a mighty bellow_ , I slammed the car down on the elves and saved lovely Darcy's life!"

"And that, my friends, is how Brave Ian saved the city of Greenwich from the invading hordes of Malekith!" Thor finished with a flourish, drawing rounds of laughter and applause from the group. 

Ian drained his glass in one triumphant gulp and hurled it down. "Another!"

Thor snatched the falling glass out of midair, and with a deferential nod to Jane, gently placed it on the table in front of them next to a gleaming gold cask of Asgardian ale, which Steve figured was fueling the late night war story session.

"Oh, boy. Thor has a disciple...." Sam said softly.

"What is the world coming to?" Steve replied.

Thor heard them and immediately waved them over. "My friends! Come! You're missing an epic tale!"

Sam promptly placed himself on the sofa, next to Natasha. Steve walked over to claim a bar stool next to James, who silently offered a beer bottle matching his own. They sat listening as Thor took up the story, regaling them with his version of the battle.

Thor's version, with Darcy's footnotes, took them to well after midnight. After that, the group began to break up. Pepper had a Board meeting in the morning, Tony, Bruce, and Jemma were discussing a biotech project and Thor took Jane and the others to get settled on the guest floor.

After parting ways with Sam, Steve looked around, and found James out on the balcony, overlooking the city beneath them. Snow was falling steadily, but fortunately the wind carried it away from the railing where James stood. Steve stepped outside, noting that James was aware of his presence immediately. 

"I'm sorry," Steve began, holding up his hands in supplication. "There was ice on the runway in D.C., and a storm over New Jersey—"

"It's okay." James said simply.

"I really was going to meet you here before the party started."

James ignored his apology. "Your friends are...something else."

Steve settled against the railing, wishing he'd brought his coat outside. The air was frigid. "I know. They give the Commandos a run for their money."

"How do you do it?" James asked softly. "You find the craziest group in the room and make a squad out of them."

"Just some innate ability, I guess." Steve grinned. "Though, the last squad was all _your_ doing, if you remember."

"I do." James said simply.

They stood silently for a few minutes, unmoving, watching the city lights and the constant flow of headlights on the streets below. Steve glanced over at the bottle still in James' hand. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

He motioned at the bottle. "Does that do anything at all for you?"

James glanced down, then smiled faintly and shook his head. "No."

"Yeah," Steve nodded. "Me either." He'd wondered if Barnes' version of the serum killed the effects of alcohol the same way his own did. "Why didn't you try some of Thor's ale? A few drinks of that and even I get tipsy."

Barnes's smile faded a little. "I didn't know what it would do."

"What do you mean?"

"I might be an angry drunk," James said ruefully.

"Nah," Steve waved his hand. "You were never a mean drunk. Now, Falsworth, get that man drunk and he'd cut you in half with just his sarcasm."

James huffed a laugh at that, but didn't take his eyes off the city. 

Steve shivered. He didn't like cold weather anymore at all. He looked over at his friend, wondering what was going through his mind. "I'm freezing out here. You wanna go inside?"

"Actually, I wanna go home."

"Okay," Steve nodded. "Let me get my coat."

He turned to head inside, and was almost at the door when Barnes spoke again. 

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

Barnes was staring at his hands, picking at the label on his beer bottle. "I was thinking about something today, but I...um, I don't know how to say it...."

Steve turned, stepping back to the railing. "You can tell me anything, James."

"I, um...I was thinking, if you want to— I mean, I think I'd like it if... _you_ called me Bucky."

Steve blinked, surprised. That was the last thing he'd expected to hear. "Really?"

"Yeah," Barnes said. " _Just_ you, though."

A slow smile spread across Steve's face. "I, uh...I think I can do that, Buck."

Barnes nodded once. Steve turned back toward the door, smiling. He didn't know why, but it felt almost like some weight had been lifted. At the door, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. "You want to see if Thor will let us take that ale of his back to the apartment?"

Bucky considered that for a moment, then straightened and turned to face him with a determined look in his eyes and a slight smirk. "Yeah."

TBC

A/N: _Bert Hindle was a lawyer hired by Tony Stark in Iron Man #225._

_Robert Ralston was one of the original Howling Commandos in the comics, back when they were "Sgt. Fury's Howling Commandos."_

_DD-Form-214 is what is commonly referred to as a soldier's "discharge papers," that are filed in order to be officially separated from the military._

_Talbot didn't mention SHIELD in regards to HYDRA's losses here because that was his deal with Director Coulson. He backed off their operations, and they let him take the credit._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Office of Dr. Tanis Nieves_  
 _New York City_  
 _4:25 PM, Local Time_

 

"Let me ask this, and I'd like you to think about it before you answer. Do you blame Steve Rogers, at all, for what happened to you?"

James blinked. "What?"

Dr. Nieves watched him patiently. "It's a straightforward question, Sergeant Barnes."

_No, it's absurd_. James shook his head and leveled a withering look at her. "You don't know what you're talking about, sweetheart."

The psychiatrist wasn't fazed by how he addressed her. "So...that's a no?"

"Why would I blame him?" James asked, growing agitated. "He's not the one who blasted me out of that train. He tried to catch me."

"Fair enough," she said, jotting something down on that damned pad of hers. 

James scowled. "You know, you've asked me that question three different ways this week."

"Have I?" 

"Yes," he growled. "You have. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to piss me off."

That got a reaction. She smiled wryly at him. "Oh, no. Definitely not." She pointed at the crack in the thick oak surface of her desk left by his fist earlier in the week. "I'm well aware of what you're like when you're pissed off. I have no desire to repeat that."

James fidgeted self-consciously, anger bleeding away. He'd lost control during their second session. It wasn't something he was proud of or wanted to repeat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, Doc."

"I wasn't scared," Nieves said with a small grin. "Trust me. I know when a patient is angry at me and when they're angry at something else."

"And what am I angry at?" James asked, legitimately curious as to what she would say. 

"You tell me."

_Typical_. James sighed, wiping his right hand over his face and silently counting to ten before he answered. "Do they really pay you to ask questions like this?"

"No." She said calmly. "They pay me to listen to your answers." 

James just shook his head. It was like they were talking in circles. It was exhausting. 

Nieves watched him for a moment, then pursed her lips. "All right. I've been asking you questions for a while. Why don't you ask me something?"

He eyed her suspiciously. "Like what?"

"Anything."

"Would you tell me the truth?"

"I told you when we started, Sergeant. I'll always tell you the truth. I would just appreciate it if you were truthful with me, as well."

James huffed a sardonic laugh, glancing around the room. "The truth is a matter of circumstances, Doc. It's not all things to all people all the time."

She tilted her head. "That's an interesting worldview."

"Yeah," he muttered, lowering his gaze to study the carpet. "I heard it somewhere, a long time ago. I can't remember where."

Nieves was silent for a moment. "How is your memory? Are you still recovering missing time?"

He nodded.

After a moment, she put her pen down. "Ask your question."

James looked up in mild surprise. He'd almost forgotten that she'd opened the floor to him a moment before. She seemed willing. He jutted his chin toward her hands. "Why do you cover up your right hand all the time?"

It pleased him to no end that the question totally blindsided her. She blinked, glancing at her left hand, which even then was covering her right, and looked back at him, looking a bit like a fish that had found itself suddenly out of the water. "I, um, lost my arm a few years back."

Slowly, eyeing him with obvious uncertainty, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing an artificial limb. It was some sort of plastic and slightly darker in color than her skin. "It's not as advanced or as strong as yours, but I can hold things, even type."

"How did you lose it?" James asked. It felt like prying, but she'd been picking his brain for three days.

Nieves smiled. "A very angry former patient. The details, I'm afraid, are classified. You understand."

He shrugged. "Sure." After a beat, he leaned back in the chair. "Why hide it?"

"Honestly?" She shot him a look as she rolled her sleeve down. "I didn't want you to think I was trying to create a false sense of empathy. I didn't know how you'd react."

James actually found that amusing. "I'm the one who picked your name off a list." He waggled his metal fingers at her. "Ironic, huh?"

"About as ironic as two men from the Depression, who were friends from childhood, lived in the same apartment, fought in the same war, both ending up being frozen and living into the 21st Century," Nieves said with a bemused look. "I'm...actually surprised that you noticed it. Most people don't pay attention to little details like that."

"I notice a lot of things, Doc."

"Such as?"

"Like how many entrances and exits there are in this building. You disguise the wall safe behind you with a false bookcase. The windows are wired for a security alarm. You keep your phone less than a foot from your left hand at all times, and what sounds like a canister of pepper spray in your pocket."

Her brow furrowed. "Okay, the rest just impresses me, but how on Earth do you know I have a can of pepper spray in my pocket?"

James tapped his ear lobe. "I can hear it hitting your keys."

She seemed astonished. "That is _amazing_." 

"It gets old," he said, glancing around the room again idly. "Be nice to be able to turn it off when I try to sleep."

"You could try ear plugs."

He frowned. "Then I wouldn't be able to hear if anyone tried to break in."

She frowned back. "That's very paranoid."

"It's not paranoid when there _are_ people trying to hunt you down."

"Touché," Nieves admitted. "You know, it's interesting that you brought up how much you notice things."

James narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Sergeant, the reason I—"

"You don't have to call me sergeant, I've been out of the Army for a long time." He said. It was true. Regardless of the dates on the paperwork he'd signed, his service to the American military had ended in 1945 when those Soviet troops fished him from the water.

Nieves spread her hands innocently. "I was just showing respect. What should I call you?"

"You can call me James."

"All right. Well, James, the reason I have been asking you about Captain Rogers is because you don't seem to have noticed the problem there."

James stiffened, his defenses back up. "What 'problem?'"

She sighed softly, glancing at the papers on her desk. "You are aware that before our first session, I interviewed Captain Rogers, yes?"

"Yeah."

"There were a few things that he said to me that indicated some...tension regarding the subject of your apparent death during the war and realization last year that you were still alive."

James grimaced. "I know he was...I mean, I would have been too, if it had been the other way around."

"I think he might blame himself for what happened to you," Nieves said solemnly. 

"Isn't—" James started, then stopped and shook his head. "I thought doctors weren't supposed to talk about what their patients say?"

"Captain Rogers isn't my patient," she said. "And you are in a unique situation, James. You are relying on him for help during your recovery, even living in the same home. His emotional well-being has a direct influence on yours. I just think you should be aware that there may be some residual issues between you that could make things difficult."

"It wasn't Steve's fault," James repeated quietly. He mentally ran through the past few weeks, trying to see if he'd seen what Nieves was talking about. Surely, Steve knew none of what had happened had been his fault. 

"Look," Nieves said calmly. "I just want you to think about it. If I'm wrong, come back on Monday and tell me. I promise, it won't be the first time I've been wrong or the last."

James nodded slowly, considering what she'd said.

"Anyway, our hour is up."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Brooklyn, New York_  
 _Former S.H.I.E.L.D. Safehouse_  
 _7:10 PM, Local Time_

 

"Dr. Nieves has an artificial arm, too?" Steve asked incredulously. "That's...ironic."

"As ironic as two guys from the forties ending up living in the future?" James replied, digging into his dinner like he was starving. Which he was. 

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. So, you haven't said much about her. How are the sessions going?"

"Well, I haven't killed her, yet. That's progress for me." James didn't look up from his plate as he cut into his steak. In his peripheral vision, he saw his friend stop and look at him. James grinned. "That was a _joke_ , Stevie. Stand down." 

"You haven't made too many jokes since you came back," Steve observed quietly. 

James stopped chewing for a moment. "You want me to stop? I can be all glum and serious all the time. Like you."

Steve held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't mean it like that, Buck. It's just nice to hear, is all."

"Mm," James grunted, resuming the enjoyment of his meal. He glanced at Steve surreptitiously. "She's strange, though. She keeps asking me something over and over."

"What's that?"

"If I blame you for what happened to me."

Steve tried to hide his reaction, he really did, but James caught the almost imperceptible flicker of...something across his friend's face.

James pressed ahead. "I told her she's crazy. There's no reason to blame you for anything, you know?"

"Mm," Steve grunted in reply.

James laid his fork down on his plate, planting his elbows on the table as he stared across at Steve, who seemed to be examining his plate microscopically. "You know that, right?"

His tone must have gotten Steve's attention, because he finally looked up, all traces of whatever it was wiped off his face. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Nodding slowly, eyes narrowed, James picked up his fork. "Yeah, so, I told her she was nuts."

They ate in relative silence. James watched Steve out of the corner of his eye. His friend had all sorts of misconceptions about the world, as James remembered it, he always had. He had a big heart but an even bigger guilt reflex. But, Steve would have to be out of his mind to think he was responsible for what HYDRA had done. 

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" James asked, deliberately changing the subject. 

"Oh," Steve said, his mood visibly lightening. "Natasha bought me some cookbooks when I was living in Washington. I was never home, so I didn't have a lot of time to practice."

James nodded. "Well, it beats your over-boiled spaghetti any day."

Steve pointed his fork at him threateningly. "You always over-boiled the spaghetti, not me."

"That's not how I remember it," James shot back with a smile. "Anyway, Doc thinks that it might help if we put our heads together, compare notes, swap stories, maybe that'll jog some more memories free. I still...have a lot of gaps."

"Yeah, sure. Anything I can do."

There was that flicker again. James definitely saw it that time. It was disturbing. He'd been ready to write off Nieves' suspicion as nonsense, but now.... "She keeps telling me about 'closure.' But, I don't think a lot of talking's gonna do what she thinks it will."

Steve smiled faintly, back to keeping his gaze anywhere but on James. "Yeah, sounds like the same line S.H.I.E.L.D.'s counselors kept throwing at me. I don't think they ever really understood."

"Guess you had to be there." James said softly, going back to eating but considerably less comfortable than when he'd started. It felt like he'd walked into a minefield.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_22 September 1944_  
 _USS Jawfish (SS-356)_  
 _Depth: 150 Feet_  
 _Malian Gulf, Greece_  
 _0115 Hours, Local Time_

 

"One mile to launch point."

"Thank you, Ensign. Diving Officer, prepare to make your depth seventy-five feet." Commander Parker turned to Steve and nodded. "Are your men ready, Captain?"

Steve nodded. "Waiting by the forward hatch."

Parker checked his chart. "We'll be off the mouth of the Spercheios in a few minutes. You've got four hours. After that, I have to head out to sea. There are still German patrol craft in these waters. If we have to leave, we'll be back this time tomorrow night."

"I understand, sir." Steve excused himself from the control room and headed toward the bow. It was an hour and a half on foot to the factory from their planned landing zone. That left them less than an hour to destroy the target. It would be close, but the destruction of the factory was considered key to clearing the way for the British army to land in the weeks to come.

The Commandos were assembled below the forward hatch. Falsworth and Pinky looked a bit green, but Steve knew neither of them would admit to being seasick, so he pretended not to notice. "Ready fellas?"

Everyone nodded or responded in the affirmative, except Bucky, who was standing against a bulkhead, holding on to pipe that ran along the overhead with his right hand. Steve noticed that his knuckles were white from gripping so hard. His left hand was frantically tapping against his thigh. When he got close, Bucky flinched, like his mind was somewhere else.

"You okay?"

Bucky glanced around at the others, and kept his voice low. "Feeling a little sick."

Steve smiled. "Don't worry, we'll be off this tub in a couple of minutes."

"I'm not seasick," Bucky said, shaking his head. "I just— I don't know what it is. I can't stop moving. Feel like one of those tin wind-up toys, you know?"

"I think they have a doctor—"

"You know how I feel about doctors," Barnes grumbled, throwing a sideways glare Steve's way.

Steve stepped in close so the others wouldn't hear. "Buck, if you're sick—"

" _All hands, prepare to surface the boat. Bridge watch report to Conn_."

Bucky glanced up at the loudspeaker and grinned. "Duty calls, Cap. Time to go."

There really was no arguing with Bucky Barnes once his mind was made up. Steve kept an eye on him, but as they ascended the ladder up onto the submarine's main deck and began preparing the rubber rafts, everything seemed fine. Bucky didn't appear the least bit ill as he organized their departure. 

The sub went under a few minutes after they shoved off, leaving them completely alone on the smooth surface of the water. Clouds hung low overhead, helpfully blocking the moon and concealing their journey, but also making the beach almost invisible ahead of them. Steve focused on the sound of waves hitting the shoreline to comfort himself that they were in fact rowing in the right direction. 

Once they reached the small cove, Falsworth took Gabe, Sam, and Pinky and formed a perimeter. Steve hauled the first heavy raft ashore by himself. Bucky and Dum Dum pulled the second raft together, but Steve couldn't help noticing Bucky did the lion's share of the heaving, leaving Dum Dum visibly impressed. 

"No need to show off, Sarge," Dugan whispered with more surprise than sarcasm. 

Bucky, as usual, replied with self-deprecation, "I gotta earn my money somehow."

Steve helped Morita and Dernier unload their supplies. Most of their rations would stay nestled in a rock formation on the beach until they returned, hopefully hidden from casual observation in a crate painted in one of Stark's experimental camouflage schemes. The radio equipment and combat gear they'd have to carry.

"Form up," Steve ordered quietly. The nine men huddled around him by the rock outcropping while he unfolded a map on top of the supply crate. Morita supplied a small electric lantern with a special hood that directed the red light downward. Steve pointed to an X on the map. "This is where we're headed. We stay together. The Resistance claims there are no patrols along our route, but we won't count on that. You see a HYDRA soldier, you take him out. Knives only, unless guns are absolutely necessary. We want to stay invisible as long as possible. Questions?"

No one spoke up. Steve laid out several reconnaissance photos of the HYDRA factory and continued. "The main assembly line is the primary target. Anything else we find is strictly secondary. When we get there, I'll sweep the wall, take out the sentries and open the rear gate. Dum Dum, you and Gabe are with Dernier. Get in, set the charges, get out. Bucky's going to cover us from the north. Morita, you stay with him, and use that gizmo Stark made to jam their radios."

"Hopefully this one won't blow up on us," Bucky remarked sourly. 

Steve folded up the map and photos and stuffed them into a pouch in Morita's pack. "Monty, Pinky, Sam, Junior, you have the perimeter. Word is HYDRA has some of those rocket-powered whirly birds of theirs stationed here, so keep your eyes on the sky."

"Light and noise discipline from here on out," Bucky ordered, switching off the lantern. "Saddle up. We move in five."

Steve walked to the tree line and knelt down, scanning the dark forest for movement. A moment later, Bucky knelt beside him. 

"And you stay where I can see you this time," Barnes murmured. 

"You're not still sore about Bulgaria, are ya?" Steve asked.

Bucky patted his ever-present M1941 rifle. "Hey, Betsy's good, but she can't see through concrete walls. And you're not indestructible, so stay where I can watch your back, _Captain_. Are we clear?"

Steve gave Bucky a mock salute. "Crystal clear, Sergeant."

**CAP WS CAP**

_0230 Hours_

 

The heavily forested terrain provided excellent cover, and once they reached a narrow dirt road heading west toward Lamia, they made better time than expected. The group reached a hill overlooking the factory around 0215 and split up. Morita powered up Stark's radio jammer, and they were off to the races. 

The six guards along the perimeter wall didn't see Captain America coming in the gloom until it was too late, and he had them all incapacitated inside of five minutes. He opened the rear gate and then lingered around the dark factory courtyard in case he was needed. 

"So far, so good," Morita said, watching Steve in action through a pair of binoculars. 

"Mm," Bucky grunted back, watching through his sniper scope.

Dum Dum's group moved in. Bucky tracked their progress while trying to keep one eye on Steve. Greece was a relatively quiet backwater compared to Northern France or Italy, and the complacency of the HYDRA sentries worked in their favor. Dugan reached the factory undetected, and the three men slipped inside.

Unfortunately, just as they reached the building, a sentry in a nearby guard tower decided to become curious, and moved to turn on a large spotlight. Bucky squeezed off one round that took down the soldier before he could light up the area. The report of the rifle, however, was almost as bad as any light as it echoed in the quiet night. 

With the hornets' nest sufficiently alerted, Bucky was suddenly glad for Stark's latest gizmo. Without their radios, the HYDRA soldiers were unable to coordinate and unable to sound the alarm when they saw anything, and the result was a confused riot as guards tried to lock down the plant, while others shouted about everything from an Allied invasion to an attack by the Resistance to an air raid.

Steve did his part to amplify the confusion, roving back and forth, eliminating isolated teams of guards. Bucky assisted by sniping the ones Steve couldn't easily intercept. All they needed to do was buy a few minutes.

Dum Dum and the others appeared from out of the factory door and raced for the gate. Less than a minute later, Dernier's explosives blew the insides out of the main building. For the HYDRA troops on the ground, confusion in many cases turned to panic, and any organized attempt to rally against their unseen adversaries fell apart. 

Schmidt's elite HYDRA Air Corps, however, were going to be tougher to escape. Four rocket powered Triebflügel fighters took off vertically from the roof of an adjacent building, and immediately swarmed down over the area, dropping flares to illuminate the hills around the plant. It was the Commandos' signal to leave. 

A machine gun nest along the east wall erupted into a fireball. Bucky shifted his scope in time to see Steve racing away through the smoke. He angled toward Bucky's sniper nest, zig-zagging in case any sentries came back to their senses and fired on him. That left Dum Dum. Bucky scanned the area where the demolition team had gone in, but saw nothing. "Come on, Dugan...."

"There!" Morita called out. 

An open-topped Kübelwagen with red and black HYDRA markings smashed through the front gate of the factory. Bucky could just hear Dugan's "Wahoo!" over the din of sirens, gunfire and aircraft passing overhead. He didn't stop to wonder how Dugan had yelled that loud. Dugan made for the tree line at breakneck speed.

"Time to go!" Steve hollered, arriving behind Bucky's nest on the hill. Morita pulled the radio jammer over his shoulders while Bucky slung his rifle across his back and picked up his submachine gun. 

They almost made it down the hill and out of sight of the factory when one of the Triebflügels got a bead on them and came in on a strafing run. Steve reacted fast, grabbing both Bucky and Morita and leaping up the next hill with them just as the ground under their feet was torn up by 30mm cannon rounds.

Closer to the trees, Happy Sam and Junior were firing back with their Thompsons, but were having little effect as far as Bucky could tell. He, Steve, and Morita reached them just a few moments after Dum Dum's stolen Kübelwagen came to a careening stop along the trees. 

"Fall back!" Steve shouted, ushering Dugan and Dernier into the forest. Pinky and Falsworth were close behind. A handful of HYDRA soldiers had zeroed in on them, advancing out into the open field between the main gate and the forest. 

Bucky and Gabe laid down cover fire with their Thompsons while Steve corralled Sam and Junior. "Get them moving!" Bucky shouted. "We've got the rear!"

Steve didn't argue, moving to make sure the rest stayed together in the dark woods. Bucky tapped Gabe's shoulder, and they fell back in the same direction, carefully firing just enough bullets to keep the Germans' heads down. They were almost in the clear when another Triebflügel swooped down on a strafing run. As it came out of its dive, the plane released a small rocket, which slammed into the ground below the Kübelwagen, flipping it over onto its back. 

On Bucky's left, Gabe suddenly cried out. He turned and saw that the private had been pinned between the German car and a thick tree.

Bucky dropped to one knee, trying to see the extent of the damage. "Gabe!" 

"I'm okay," Jones replied with his usual nonchalance. "My foot's caught," he muttered when he tried to move. "I think my ankle's broke, Sarge."

Barnes took a moment to fire a few rounds toward the slowly advancing Germans. He glanced behind them. "Steve!"

Steve and the others were deep in the forest. Bucky could just see them moving in the nearly pitch black woods. 

"Leave me, Sarge," Jones said. "Get my gun, I'll hold them off for ya."

"Shut the hell up, Private," Barnes barked. "I'll decide when someone gets left behind."

They didn't have much time, and Steve was out of range. Bucky grabbed two grenades off Gabe's combat harness, pulled the pins and flung them toward the HYDRA soldiers. The explosions gave them second thoughts, as he hoped, and he used the few seconds to move around to the side of the overturned car and push. He tried with all his might, but the car was angled toward him, its front end in a ditch near the tree roots. He didn't have the leverage. 

"Bucky!" Jones called out, pointing skyward. "They're coming back around!"

He could see the three spinning engines of one of the Triebflügels getting larger overhead. The damned plane was diving right on top of them. They were officially out of time. Bucky spun around, grabbed the edge of the 1,500 pound car and heaved. After a moment's struggle, the vehicle finally shifted, and Bucky shoved, sending the car flipping back onto its wheels. 

"Jesus...." Gabe breathed, looking from Barnes to the car.

"No time to pray, Gabe," Bucky said, pulling him up over his shoulders and running into the woods. The car exploded behind them as the diving plane opened up with cannon fire. Bucky didn't look back.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Present Day_  
 _Brooklyn, New York_  
 _Former S.H.I.E.L.D. Safehouse_

 

"Gabe never said anything about that," Steve said, absorbing Bucky's version of that night's events. "He just said you got him out from under the car."

"They had him so doped up in the infirmary, he couldn't remember his own name. I convinced him he was imagining things." Bucky said, idly rubbing at a spot on his cybernetic hand. 

Steve's eyebrows went up.

Barnes favored him with a faint, sad smile. "I knew something was wrong. I didn't want to— I couldn't face it. Zola changed me."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Steve had wondered if Bucky had been aware of anything before the fall. In hindsight, it seemed so obvious....

"Steve," Bucky spoke quietly, staring at the surface of the kitchen table. "There's something that I've wanted to ask you. I don't...did you know? I mean, back then, did you realize something was wrong with me?"

Steve frowned, fidgeting uncomfortably. "I wouldn't say it like that, but...I'd be lying if I said I hadn't noticed things were different. You never got drunk, no matter how much you drank. You kept up with me better. Hell, I don't think you even broke a sweat half the time."

Barnes nodded. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

There it was. The million-dollar question. The question Steve had been going over in his mind again and again for eleven months. He rubbed his hands together, nervously trying to answer it, and still not knowing how. "I knew you'd been through terrible things, you didn't want to talk about it and I didn't know how to ask about it. I wanted to believe that you were okay...and I guess I lied to myself when I saw that you weren't."

"Maybe if one of us had spoke up, things would have turned out different," Bucky said with a shrug.

Steve flinched. He couldn't deny the accusation. There was nothing he could do at all. "I am... _so_ sorry, Bucky."

Barnes looked up at him, tilting his head with a frown. "I didn't mean it like that...."

"No," Steve shook his head. "No, if I'd done something— I was you're C.O. If I'd done my job, maybe none of this would have happened."

"Steve, I told you, I don't blame you for anything."

Steve shook his head again. He couldn't look at Bucky. He couldn't face the shame. "Maybe you should."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_28 December 1944_  
 _S.S.R. Headquarters, London, England_  
 _1730 Hours, Local Time_

 

"What the hell is this?" Phillips growled.

Steve's eyes flicked down to meet the Colonel's chilly gaze, but he remained at attention in front of the desk. "My request for court martial—"

"I can read!" Phillips barked. He glanced down the letter again, and sighed. "You're not the first C.O. to lose a man in combat, son. Hell, you're not even the first to lose a friend. How long'd you know him?"

"We survived the Depression together," Steve muttered, eyes dropping to the floor. "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."

Phillips watched him silently for a moment. "I'm sorry for your loss. Truly."

_Loss_. Steve replayed that inadequate word in his mind. That didn't describe it at all. Surely the Colonel understood. Steve wasn't fit to be in the field. If he could let Bucky die—

"Did you show this letter to anyone else?"

Steve looked up with a frown. "No, sir."

The Colonel nodded and immediately ripped the paper in two. He reached into a drawer and produced a cigarette lighter—which was unusual, since Steve had never once seen the man smoke—and promptly lit the torn paper on fire and dropped it into an empty metal wastebasket. "Take the night off, Captain. I've got to pay a visit to our new prisoner."

_Zola_. He felt a surge of raw hatred at the thought of the German scientist. But, Steve couldn't let it go at that. "Colonel—"

"You're dismissed, Captain. Report back here at 0800."

Steve clenched his fists, but said nothing. He spun on his heel and marched for the office door. Before he reached it, Phillips called out, "Rogers."

He turned, finding the older man's face showing a slightly less imposing expression. "Sir?"

"What was Barnes doing when he got hit?"

Steve blinked. "Covering my back."

Phillips nodded. "Then he went out doing exactly what he wanted to do. We should all be so lucky."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Present Day_  
 _Avengers Tower_  
 _1:00 AM Local Time_

 

Steve hammered the punching bag, ignoring the steady stream of statistics JARVIS read from the sensors Tony had installed in the bag's lining. He knew how hard he was hitting it, and he knew he could hit it harder. 

The awful images from the train played in his mind's eye again and again. Bucky taking the hit that had been meant for him, the handrail giving way. He heard Phillips' words over and over and it never made a difference. Colonel Phillips hadn't understood the gravity of his failure. No one could. 

He distantly heard JARVIS' warning that the bag liner was weakening, but he ignored it, pounding a series of steadily stronger punches into the leather.

"Steven."

Thor's voice startled him, and he jerked his head around, finding the Asgardian standing a few feet behind him, wearing what looked like a very comfortable combination of a T-shirt and waist-length leather coat. Steve wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded toward him. "Jane take you shopping?"

"This afternoon, yes," Thor said, folding his arms. "She seems to enjoy finding clothes for me to wear."

Steve nodded, turning back to the punching bag. "Looks good on you."

He felt Thor's stare on the back his neck. "Thank you. It would appear that your day was less enjoyable." 

"What's not to like?" Steve panted, starting a series of right jabs. "Reminisced about old times. Like when I left my best friend for dead so he could get captured by monsters who took him apart piece by piece."

"I have heard the tale," Thor said slowly. "Though, I do not recall finding any fault in your actions."

"Then maybe you aren't looking hard enough," Steve growled, laying into the bag a little harder. "Maybe you don't get it. Maybe no one does."

"We sometimes lose men in battle—"

Steve grabbed the punching bag, tore it from its moorings, and flung it against the far wall so hard that the seams separated. He spun on Thor. "I didn't lose some random soldier to the enemy! I lost my best friend!"

"Should familiarity make it any different, Steven?" Thor's eyes darkened, but not with anger. Steve belatedly remembered that the alien prince had left his own brother on a bloody battleground barely two years before. 

Steve's anger fled, replaced with a weary agony that had been plaguing him for a year. "I read the files. They knew who he was. They couldn't get to me, so they took him. He suffered because of _me_ , Thor."

"That's not true."

The new voice surprised Steve, but Thor merely glanced toward the door, then back to Steve as though he'd already known they weren't alone. He nodded sadly and quietly left the gymnasium, leaving Steve with the newcomer. It took Steve a moment to turn and face him. 

"Bucky...."

Barnes stood near the door, walking slowly toward the boxing arena, hands in his coat pockets. "I wondered where you went."

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Bucky beat him to it. "Your memory's failing you in your old age, kiddo. HYDRA was experimenting on me before you even showed up in Europe. _None of it_ was your fault."

"I kept telling myself that there was nothing wrong with you," Steve said softly. "I didn't want to see what was right in front of me."

Bucky shrugged, stopping in front of Steve. "It wouldn't have changed anything if you'd spoken up. I wasn't going anywhere."

Steve met his eyes briefly, then looked away. He sank down onto a nearby bench and started unwrapping his boxing gloves. "We looked for you...you know, after. We searched the canyon as long as we could."

"I know you did," Bucky said quietly. 

Steve needed him to know, though. The questions had been festering in his mind for almost a year. What if he'd stayed longer? What if he'd found Bucky in that river? "If I'd known— _really_ known—I never would have left you behind. I _swear_."

Bucky sat on the bench beside him. "I know." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "Did you ever read Dugan's book?"

A little off-balance from the change in subject, Steve shrugged. "Bought it. Haven't gotten around to reading it."

"I did," Barnes said, unfolding what Steve saw was a carefully torn out printed page and handing it over.

Steve quickly read the text, eyes welling up a little when he realized what he was reading about. 

Barnes watched him silently, obviously studying him. "Is that how it happened?"

"Heh, yeah," Steve huffed, sniffing. "He left out the string of vile obscenities I hurled at them, but yeah, it's true." 

Barnes huffed at that. "Language, Stevie."

"He was wrong about the last part, though. I didn't blame them."

"You shouldn't blame yourself, either," Barnes replied. 

Steve nodded, not really convinced of that, but not possessing the strength to argue the point. 

Bucky's metal elbow nudged him in the side. "I don't."

Looking at him at last, Steve saw that Bucky meant it. He wished he could find it in himself to accept it, too. But, Bucky was there now, and Steve could finally make up for his mistakes. He would make things right between them. 

"Is Stark gonna make you pay for that?" Barnes asked, nodding toward the wrecked punching bag. 

Steve shook his head. "Nah. Believe it or not, I'm not the only one in this building with a lot of pent up issues."

"Oh, good, I like fitting in!" Bucky said with exaggerated relief. He side-eyed Steve with an amused gleam in his eye.

"I forgot how funny you think you are," Steve jibed gently.

"I thought _you_ were the entertainer. Music, movies, that outfit." 

Steve shrugged. "I think the dancing girls were the big draw in those shows."

Bucky grunted in understanding. "Yeah, probably so. That must have stung. Like the doc says, you need closure."

"What'd you have in mind?" Steve asked, knowing Barnes was going somewhere with it but not sure what to expect.

"There's still some of Thor's ale at the apartment."

Steve laughed. "You want to get drunk and swap a few decades worth of regret?"

Barnes shrugged. "What are friends for?"

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_"Bucky's death hit us all pretty hard. I'd been in his company since the Torch landings, the others came in later, but what really made us all close were those months after Azzano, in the HYDRA labor camp. And Steve had known Bucky his whole life, so when we all got together in the Commandos, we were inseparable._

_We searched the canyon for as long as we could—Junior was guarding Zola on Stark's plane. The terrain was terrible. Frozen water, jagged rocks; it was snowing so hard by then that you couldn't see ten feet in front of you. An entire HYDRA division was moving in on us. We knew we had to go, but Cap wouldn't leave. He told us he'd hold off the enemy so that we could keep searching. That was suicide. We all told him so. I think it's the first time we'd ever openly disagreed with one of his orders. I know it was the only time we ever told him 'no.'_

_It took all seven of us to drag Steve back to the plane. He fought us the whole way, though I know he was holding back, because he could have flattened us all with one hit. We got to the landing strip before HYDRA did, and we got away, but Steve was never the same after that._

_We talked about it a lot after the war, after Steve went down. He never said anything to us about it before the end, but truth be told, I think some part of Steve never forgave us for making him leave Barnes behind...."_

 

—Excerpt from The Howling Commandos  
by Timothy "Dum-Dum" Dugan  
Page 291

TBC

A/N: _Tanis Nieves was a psychiatrist in Carnage #1, who lost her arm to a symbiote and later became "Scorn."_

_USS Jawfish was begun but not completed during WWII. In fact, construction was canceled just a few months before the story event here. I used a fictional submarine to avoid any confusion with real life naval vessels or personnel._

_A Kübelwagen was Volkswagon's equivalent of the American Jeep. It equipped the German army in WWII._

_The Focke-Wulf Triebflügel was an experimental vertical takeoff plane with 3 rotating rocket engines that never reached service in real life, but the Red Skull escaped in one in the Captain America: The First Avenger._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Present Day_  
 _Brooklyn, New York_  
 _Former S.H.I.E.L.D. Safehouse_  
 _9:05 AM, Local Time_

 

Steve unlocked the door to the apartment quietly and slipped inside. He'd kept his run to fifteen miles that morning because he wanted to get back. The past few days, Bucky had actually started running with him since he got a kick out of outpacing Sam—much to Sam's aggravation—but Steve had gone alone today. Bucky had had a rough night, and had only gotten back to sleep around dawn. 

They'd made a lot of progress in the previous week. Bucky's counseling sessions seemed to be going well—though Bucky obstinately refused to reveal what he and Dr. Nieves discussed—and their own work of combing through the Winter Soldier files and information Bucky had collected on his own was, in fact, helping uncover new memories. 

Unfortunately, sometimes the new memories led to new nightmares, and those tended to be just as bad as when Bucky first came back to New York. From what little Steve could make out from Bucky's taciturn comments, they'd been grotesquely detailed recollections of his capture and brainwashing. Steve came back early because he hadn't wanted his friend to wake up alone. 

The apartment was dark and quiet. Steve glanced down the hall, seeing Bucky's bedroom door was still closed. He walked to it, not bothering to keep his footfalls light, and knocked. He didn't want to wake Bucky if he was still sleeping, but he also wasn't going to just open the door unannounced. That was a good way to get a knife at his throat. He'd learned that lesson the hard way. "Buck?"

There was no answer. Steve decided to take his chances and crack the door open. "Buck, you awake?"

The room was empty. The bed wasn't made, but that wasn't much to go by. Some days Bucky's old Army habits came to the fore and sometimes they didn't. Steve closed the door and walked back up the hall. 

There were no dirty dishes, not even a coffee cup. Steve frowned and pulled out his cell phone, already chastising himself for being too much of a worrier, as he knew Bucky would momentarily. He dialed the number and waited. It rang a few times, then went to voicemail. 

"Come on," Steve muttered quietly, dialing again. The second call went to voicemail again. Steve called a third time, with the same result. 

He sighed. _Stop worrying_. Bucky could take care of himself. Like Sam had pointed out once, he'd stayed alive alone and on the run for nearly a year. Still, he'd had a very bad night....

Steve forced himself to put his phone away. Perhaps Bucky's phone battery wasn't charged, or he was on the subway. He considering calling the Tower and getting JARVIS to track Bucky's phone on GPS...but that would be going too far. He trusted his friend, Maybe he just wanted to be alone. _Hell, he was like that before the war, too_. Bucky didn't like relying on other people, never had. 

Steve's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, and saw that the screen wasn't displaying a number. It was odd, but...maybe.... He answered it. "Hello?"

There was a short pause on the other end. " _Long time, no see, Cap_."

Frowning, Steve checked the screen again. The raspy voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. Definitely wasn't Bucky, and there weren't that many people who had his number.

" _Come on, don't be like that. It hasn't been_ that _long, old man. We used to be tight, you and me_."

Something clicked in Steve's mind. The attitude, and the tone, but— "Rumlow?"

Rumlow laughed, the rasp in his voice getting worse when he did. " _There we go. I'm glad I made an impression on you, Cap. It means a lot to me, believe me_."

There were many thoughts and questions racing through his head, not the least of which was how Rumlow got his phone number, but Steve settled on the simplest one. "I thought you were dead."

That got another wheezing laugh. " _Damn near, Rogers. Damn near. But, HYDRA has great medical benefits_." 

"Yeah, and a great network."

" _Ha! That's funny, Steve_."

Steve felt his temper rising. Rumlow was a murderer, and a traitor on top of that. "What do you want?"

" _I was in town, and I thought I'd do you a favor. Old friends do that sort of thing_."

"Is that what we are, Rumlow? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you were going to put a bullet in my head the last time we saw each other."

" _I had my orders_ ," Rumlow said sternly. " _That wasn't personal. But, I think this is. See, I think I found something that belongs to you, buddy, and I wanted to ask if you wanted it back_."

Steve's blood went cold. Bucky. "What have you done with him?"

" _Me? I haven't done anything with the Asset_." Rumlow replied innocently, putting emphasis on HYDRA's word for Bucky. " _But, maybe if we could meet, I can help him find his way home_."

A trade. Wonderful. Steve already wanted to take Rumlow's head off. He didn't have a lot of options. "Where?"

" _I know a place where we can talk privately. MacLaren's, 240 West 55th Street. Come alone_."

"You really think I'm that stupid?" Steve scoffed. 

" _No_ ," Steve could hear the sneer in Rumlow's voice. " _But, I know what and who you care about. And people do all kinds of stupid things in those circumstances, don't they?_ "

Steve scowled. Rumlow had him backed into a corner. "When?"

" _I'm here now. No time like the present. Oh, and Cap? Leave the shield home, and don't invite anyone else. I'll know._ "

The call ended. Steve barely stopped himself from hurling his phone against the wall. He slammed his fist down on the kitchen counter instead, hard enough to crack the Formica. "Damn it!" 

He had no idea how Rumlow had found them, or got his number, or if they were under surveillance, but he had little choice but to believe that they had been and were being watched. _Can't even call Tony or Sam_. 

He went to his room and swapped his running clothes for a more durable pair of jeans and his leather jacket. Placing his phone on the pillow, he changed clothes, keeping his head down in case he was being watched and spoke quietly. "Record message: MacLaren's on West 55th. Brock Rumlow's alive, and he might have Bucky."

Steve left the phone where it was, not hitting send, then headed out the door, mentally kicking himself. He should have known things were going too well.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_MacLaren's Pub_  
 _240 West 55th Street_  
 _New York City_

 

The area around the bar was mostly deserted that early in the day, with just a smattering of pedestrians hurrying down the sidewalk on their way to work. Few witnesses, which Steve was sure Rumlow appreciated. It had started raining on the way over, and a cold draft running between the buildings completed the dreary picture.

He kept an eye on the surroundings as he approached the bar. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he knew better than to assume Rumlow was coming alone. The former head of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s S.T.R.I.K.E. commandos wasn't stupid. 

_Not as stupid as I am for coming here_ , Steve thought sourly. But, what choice did he have? Bucky being suddenly out of touch and Rumlow appearing in town...it made sense that those two events were connected.

The bar was dark inside, a stark contrast with the outdoors. Steve entered through the door, and scanned the interior. It was old, with dark wood paneling and gaudy light fixtures. The stereotypical Den of Iniquity, as his mother used to call them.

Several men in dark clothing were arrayed around a pool table near the back. Obviously not patrons, given the looks they shot him when he entered. The bartender didn't seem too interested in serving drinks, either. Everything screamed "trap." And he had no alternative but to spring it.

He recognized Rumlow's head and shoulders in a booth by the back wall, facing away from the door. He took a deep breath and walked between the four pool tables, stopping at the booth.

Rumlow didn't turn around. "Steve."

"Brock," Steve replied coolly.

"Have a seat."

"I'm happy to stand. Where is—"

"I _said_ , have a seat," Rumlow growled. 

Steve curled his lip, but said nothing as he sat down on the opposite side of the rather small table. He did a double-take when he finally saw Rumlow's face. 

"Yeah." Rumlow nodded. "First few weeks, I jumped every time I looked in the mirror."

Brock's face was badly scarred, especially around the eyes. There were signs of surgery and skin grafts, but the patchwork reconstruction only served to make the sight more grotesque. 

"But, I'm lucky I even survived. Dodging that helicarrier you knocked out of the sky was a tall order. The docs gave up on me after three months," Rumlow said conversationally.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, more out of sympathy than actual remorse. 

"No, you're not." Rumlow said, narrowing his eyes. Then he smiled, and the sight was even more chilling. "But, hey, maybe you will be someday."

"You threw in your lot with murderers and terrorists," Steve spat. "I didn't—"

Rumlow held up a hand. "I'm not gonna debate philosophy with you, Steve-o. You never understood HYDRA's end game. We offer the world order. You can push your 'truth, justice and the American Way' and all that comic book bullshit all you like, but we live in the _real_ world—"

"I don't want to debate worldviews with you, either, Rumlow," Steve interrupted. "Where's Bucky?"

Brock's smile morphed into a sickening grin. He wagged a finger at Steve. "You know? I like this. The mighty Captain America, right where I want him, and can't do a damned thing about it."

Steve ground his teeth, but stayed silent, waiting for the rest. He wasn't going to feed Rumlow's ego any more than he already had.

"You did good finding that homing transmitter in Romania," Rumlow said with a hint of respect in his voice. "And you stayed out of sight here in New York, despite one of our best recon units looking for you. But, you know what your big mistake was?"

"Do tell," Steve said quietly. 

Rumlow's expression went from impressed to smug in a blink. "You didn't stop to think who else knew about that safehouse."

Steve blinked, taken off guard. 

"I kept a Chinese defector there a few years back. Nice place. Bulletproof windows, easy escape routes out the back, fantastic water pressure."

" _Where is Bucky?_ " Steve growled slowly, hands balling into fists on the tabletop. 

Rumlow raised his eyebrows innocently. "How should I know? You saw him last. But, don't worry, as soon as he shows back up at the apartment, we'll grab him, too."

Steve's eyes widened as the words sank in. It was a trap, and he'd taken the bait completely. The sound of metal on metal echoed across the bar. He snapped his head over in time to see one of the pool players locking a heavy metal latch on the front door. 

Rumlow's hand slapped down on his. When Steve snatched it back, there was a white adhesive pad glued to the back of it.

"It's a tranq," Brock said casually. "Those boys in Ghudaza took good notes. Let us know exactly the right dosage to put you down."

Steve ripped the pad off his hand, but he could already feel the drug in his system. The room was starting to tilt. 

Brock grabbed his wrists. "If you get up, we're gonna hurt you."

Rumlow's face began to distort in Steve's swimming vision. He jerked his hands back and pushed himself to his feet, staggering toward the door. He needed to warn Bucky....

He made it about four unsteady steps when something hit him in the back, pitching him forward into one of the pool tables. He was oddly distracted by the feel of the green felt under his palm, but he managed to turn in time to see one of the players discard his broken cue and pull a telescoping baton from his jacket. 

Steve found enough stability to lash out with his leg and kick the man in the face. There were noises and shouts from all around him, and the terrible rock and roll song playing on the jukebox became uncomfortably loud. Was his hearing being affected by the...by the...?

A blow caught Steve in the gut as he tried to resume his march for the door. It was followed by another to his back, and then someone kicked his feet out from under him. He fell to the hardwood floor, unable even to catch himself on the way down. A steel-toed boot crashed into his side when he tried to push himself back to his feet. Two more blows followed, knocking the wind out of him.

More feet joined in, as well as a few fists and more steel batons. Steve managed to reach out and grab an ankle, yanking one of his assailants off his feet, but the retaliation was intense. Blows fell from all sides, and Steve couldn't hope to block all of them. 

The world was spinning off its axis, and he tasted blood in his mouth. His strength finally gave out, and he collapsed to the dirty floor, feeling more impacts following him down.

After a few confused, pain-filled moments, the world turned over, making Steve nauseous. Rumlow's burned face appeared over his, blocking the light from overhead. 

"I just want you to know, Big Guy. This time? It was very, _very_ personal." 

The last thing Steve was aware of was Brock's gloved fist coming down.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Brooklyn, New York_  
 _Former S.H.I.E.L.D. Safehouse_  
 _10:00 AM, Local Time_

 

James unlocked the door to the apartment and slipped inside silently. He knew he didn't need to, but old habits died hard. The light was on in the living room, so Steve had been home, apparently. 

He made his way down the hall to his bedroom, and retrieved his cell phone from under the pillow. There were three missed calls, all from Steve. James felt a little bad about that. He'd wanted to be alone for a little while, and had skipped Steve's morning run for a quiet, secluded walk toward the waterfront. Well, the "walk" had included a few rooftops. What better way to avoid people?

Hopefully, Steve wasn't too worried about him. The kid worried too much about him as it was, and he hated adding to that. James dialed Steve's phone, but there was no answer. That was unusual.

He walked out to the kitchen to get some coffee. Steve always brewed a pot before he went for his run, and today was no exception. The smell had almost been enough to draw James out from under the covers earlier. If he hadn't been so exhausted, it might have succeeded.

Grabbing a mug from the kitchen cabinet, James poured the coffee, and considered trying Steve's phone again. He didn't want anyone out looking for him when he was at home. _Steve would definitely be one to call out a search party, too_.... He thought bemusedly. 

As he set the pot back on the burner, his eyes tracked along the countertop, and stopped on a long crack and a dent. His brow furrowed. It hadn't been there the night before. He stepped closer and examined it. It looked like it had been made by a fist.

James set his mug down and turned, scanning the apartment. Everything else seemed to be in place. Steve's shield was even in its usual spot by the coat rack. Growing uneasy, he called out. "Steve?"

Silence. James reached under his coat and drew his COP .357 from its holster. He crept slowing toward the door and turned the deadbolt. For good measure, he pressed the little red button under the light switch, and Stark's custom made security seals dropped into place with a _thunk_. Anyone wanting to get through the outer door without a password would have to practically blast their way in, now. It would also keep anyone who was still inside the apartment from getting out. 

James moved toward the hallway. He was two steps into the main living area when he heard a _thud_. Something had made contact with the outer wall of the building. He heard a high-pitched whine and dove for cover behind the half-wall that separated the kitchen and living room. 

The outer wall exploded inward, sending a hail of wood, brick and drywall into the apartment and a cloud of dust that obscured everything in the room. Bucky pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose. _That's one way to get through the bulletproof glass in the windows_....

There was a loud hissing sound as something rocketed up through the hole into the living room. Tear gas. Two more canisters followed it. James growled. It was going to be more of a fight than he expected. He reached up and opened the drawer beside the dishwasher, and grabbed the panic button Stark had given Steve that he wasn't supposed to know about. James hadn't overlooked the fact that Steve had immediately thrown it in the kitchen drawer and never once touched it again. 

Now, however, seemed a good time for some reinforcements, so James pressed the button, then placed it back in the drawer, out of sight.

James crouched and moved to the corner where the wall ended at the small dining area, and hazarded a glance. Two men in black body armor rappelled down the outside of the building and entered the living room. Their armor reinforced in some places and both carried more weapons and ammunition per man than most special forces squads. Each chest plate was adorned with a haphazardly painted white X, and the helmets with a vaguely skull-like smear of white paint. 

James didn't hesitate, firing twice, catching the first man in the throat and the second through the plastic faceplate of his helmet. Both went down. 

They weren't alone, though. James heard a loud bang at the front door. Maybe a battering ram. His most direct escape route was cut off, and the tear gas was getting uncomfortably thick, even for someone with his physical resistance to it.

He stayed low, but headed for the hallway again. Steve's bedroom had a window that faced the alley rather than the street. If they were even a little careless in their deployment, James might be able to get to the roof, and then to the next building. 

There wasn't time. He was halfway to the hall when three black objects hurtled through the hole and landed in a line along the length of the living room. The three flashbangs went off almost simultaneously, and even the Winter Soldier wasn't capable of shaking that off. 

James stumbled to his knees, holding his hands over his ringing ears and blinking to try and clear his vision. He lost his Derringer somewhere in the blast.

He was still stunned when he sensed more than saw or heard booted feet nearing him. A pair of hands grabbed his right wrist, trying to restrain him. James closed his fingers around the attacker's wrist and pulled, yanking the man into the wall. He crumpled to ground as James struggled to get to his feet.

A shadow passed over his blurred vision, and it was enough to determine a direction. James swung out with his cybernetic arm, getting a satisfying yelp and a sickening crunch for his effort. _Four down_ , he thought. 

He had memorized the layout of the apartment when they first moved in, so he didn't need to see in order to continue toward the bedrooms. Unfortunately, his path was anticipated, and a large, heavy man intercepted him, slamming him against the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the drywall. 

James grappled with the man, wrestling blindly. His metal hand found its way up along the man's armored vest, and around his neck. He squeezed until the man stopped fighting and starting gurgling, scratching at James' hand. Lifting up, he flung his attacker away, hearing him crash into two other soldiers.

"Sputnik!"

Like a switch being flipped, James' body suddenly relaxed. Every muscle seemed to disconnect from his brain, and he fell to the floor. As darkness claimed him, James heard an angry voice over his head. "Dumbass! You were only supposed to use the control word if we couldn't take him down any other way. We can only use it on him _once_!"

James heard nothing else.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

Steve's head throbbed as he blinked awake. Without moving around, he could tell he was sitting on a hard chair, in a chilly room. The lights seemed too bright, but that might have been from the drugs. He managed to move his hands about an inch before chains stopped him with a _clink_.

 _Not again_ , Steve thought sourly. He'd just left this party in Africa not even two months before. The prisoner routine was getting old fast.

"Look at that. Barely a mark on him. You wouldn't even know that we beat him unconscious this morning."

He recognized Rumlow's scratchy voice immediately. Steve raised his head to face his captor. 

Another man, wearing a mask with a vaguely skull-like symbol painted on it, stood to Steve's left. He examined the height, build, and posture, then nodded toward him. "That you Rollins?"

The man glanced at Rumlow, who shrugged, then removed the mask. It was indeed Jack Rollins, looking about as arrogant and cruel as he had when they worked together. _The more things change_.... "Still playing second fiddle for Rumlow, Jack? I would have thought you had graduated to full-fledged dirtbag by now."

His barb had the desired effect. The hotheaded Rollins lunged forward and backhanded Steve. Steve smirked. _Yeah, come a little closer big guy_. If he could just get the bonds around his ankle loose....

Rumlow grabbed Rollins' arm and shoved him away. "Stand down, Jack!"

He stepped forward into Steve's space, leaning in to whisper. "We picked up Barnes when he went back to the apartment this morning. Just so we understand each other, Cap, we're gonna wipe your friend's brain. All that hard work you've been doing? _Poof_. He'll be our Asset again in no time."

Steve lunged at him with a feral growl, but the heavy chains kept him from leaving the chair. All his outburst did was make Rumlow grin. 

"See, Jack? That's how you hit a nerve."

He stepped away, behind Steve, then came back around with a cattle prod in hand. He turned it over to Rollins. "Here. Find a few more nerves. I'll be back."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

James tested the chains again. When he moved more than a couple of inches, a powerful electric jolt shot through both arms, numbing his right and causing painful feedback pulses in the left. He held still and looked around for the fourth time. There was only one door in the dimly lit room, and one air vent that was too small for a human to fit through. There was also a bunk, with a ratty mattress and no pillow or sheets.

 _Not even a bucket_ , he thought grimly. Though, since he couldn't move more than a few inches, he supposed anything else was out of the question anyway. On the other hand, no amenities might also mean no one stayed there long enough to need them. Which meant he might be moved...or....

The door opened abruptly, and a tall man stepped through, wearing all black. The man's face was scarred, showing the effects of severe burns. He looked vaguely familiar, though. Connected to Pierce, maybe.

"Brock Rumlow," the man said, nodding once before placing his arms behind his back casually. "We've met a few times."

James narrowed his eyes. "I'll have to take your word for it."

"You'd be 'Bucky.'" Rumlow said, saying the name slowly like he was trying it out.

" _You_ don't call me that," James snarled.

Rumlow didn't answer immediately, though from his expression he was happy to have provoked a response. James filed that bit of information away. He wasn't going to entertain his captor any more than necessary.

"Only two dead and three injured bringing you in," Rumlow said thoughtfully. "You're going soft."

James gave him a cold smile, held up his bound hands and waggled his fingers. "Unlock these, and we'll find out how 'soft' I've gotten."

His captor smiled again, moving further into the cell, not at all intimidated. "You know, I always felt sorry for you. During those mind wipes...it felt wrong. Like kicking a dog. You deserved better."

There was a muffled shout from outside, behind another door somewhere. James glanced toward the sound—Steve, he was certain of it, and he was in pain—but he schooled his expression. He wasn't going to give Rumlow the satisfaction. 

Rumlow wasn't fooled, though. He watched James intently. "You really care about him, don't you?" James said nothing. Rumlow crouched so they were at eye level. "That's a weakness. But, don't worry. We're going to fix you up, good as new. You just sit tight."

He stood and moved toward the door. Before he stepped out, James turned to face him. "Rumlow."

The other man stopped and raised his eyebrows, waiting. 

James nodded toward his chains. "I'm going to get out of this room, and when I do, I'm gonna kill you."

After a moment, Rumlow nodded soberly. "I believe you."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Brooklyn, New York_  
 _Former S.H.I.E.L.D. Safehouse_  
 _12:30 PM, Local Time_

 

Sam took the stairs two at a time, and sprinted down the hallway toward Steve's apartment. He'd been in a session at the VA all morning, and had only received Tony's message when they broke for lunch.

He raced through the open door, only to skid to a stop when he was confronted by one of Stark's new white-armored Iron Legion drones.

"This is a restricted area," it declared, raising its hand to point its repulsor at Sam's chest. "Please identify yourself."

"Stand down, Number Four," Tony said, waving Sam inside. The Legionnaire went back to guarding the door as Sam edged past it. 

"I got your message—" Sam stopped short when he saw the gaping hole in the living room wall. "Sweet Jesus."

"Yeah," Tony murmured. His Iron Man armor was standing in Sentry Mode by the television stand. "The security door was triggered, but whoever hit 'em came ready to play. Did you see either of them this morning?"

Sam shrugged. "Steve and I ran in the park. Barnes stayed in. Nothing was wrong when Steve left."

"Steve wasn't here when this happened," Natasha said, coming around the corner from the kitchen with Steve's shield in her hands. "Two super-soldiers would have left more than two bodies."

"Yup," Hawkeye agreed, kneeling by one of two corpses lying near the hole. "One bullet each. They were dead before they hit the floor. Perfect shots, too. One between the neck of his armor and his helmet, the other straight through the helmet visor, dead center."

Sam whistled softly. "Definitely sounds like Barnes."

"They came right through the wall," Barton continued. "Whoever this was, they knew the windows and doors were weapon-proof. Almost looks like they brought their own Hulk."

"Don't look at me," Bruce Banner said, emerging from the hallway from the direction of the bedrooms. He was holding a cell phone.

"What about Blonsky?" Barton asked. 

" _No_ ," Maria Hill's voice sounded from speakers in Tony's suit. Sam blinked, not realizing they'd been on the air. " _He's still in Alaska. Short of World War Three, the Army won't be letting him out of the icebox_."

"He doesn't have a beef with Steve in any case," Banner added, holding up the phone. "But, I don't think we need to worry about that. Anyone know who Brock Rumlow is?" 

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, no."

"I thought Rumlow was dead," Barton said. 

" _No one saw him after the Triskelion_ ," Hill replied. " _He was listed as missing and presumed dead_."

"I think we can take him off that list, now," Banner said, reading from the phone's screen. "Steve met him at 240 West 55th. Says he thought Rumlow had Bucky."

"Going for the blind spots, that sounds like Rumlow," Natasha said bitterly. "Hill, status on Thor and War Machine?"

" _They just arrived here at the Tower_."

"Ask them to check out that address," Tony said. "We'll wrap up here."

"I seriously doubt they're still there, Tony," Banner said.

Tony nodded grimly. "But, it's the only lead we've got."

TBC

A/N: _MacLaren's is the bar from "How I Met Your Mother," featuring Cobie Smulders. The address is of the real life bar MacLaren's is reportedly based on in NYC. The description of the interior is mine._

_Blonsky was the villain in The Incredible Hulk, known as the Abomination. After the fight with Banner, he was taken to Alaska and put into cryo-freeze. He was also briefly imprisoned at The Vault, according to the Incredible Hulk novelization._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

James gingerly tried to apply pressure to the chains around his wrists and forearms again. He'd found that if he was careful, he could avoid the debilitating shock, at least for a few seconds. If he could apply enough strength against the chains, though, a few seconds might be all he needed.

 

The shouts and screams from outside the door made it difficult to be so careful. He couldn't quite get a fix on the direction, but he knew Steve's voice and he knew it was coming from somewhere close by. Rumlow, or his HYDRA lackeys, were taking their proverbial pound of flesh from Steve, and each tortured sound hit James like a punch. 

 

His best friend—until a few weeks before, his _only_ friend in the entire world—was being tortured just a few steps down the hall, and there was nothing James could do about it. He knew what being a prisoner of HYDRA was, had lived it firsthand and in a hundred nightmares since, and each sound out of Steve stoked a burning hatred inside him that was threatening to overwhelm his already thin layer of self-control.

 

He had to get out of the cell.

 

A sickeningly long wail of pain from outside the door made his anger boil over, and he yanked on the chains connecting his wrists. The result was disappointing, but predictable, as the electric jolts traveled up his arms so intensely that it flung him across the cot and against the wall of the cell. 

 

James muttered a string of curses the likes of which people like Stark wrongly assumed were too vulgar for someone of his generation. It was a misconception that Steve had never bothered to correct. One learned a lot dealing with resistance fighters. He and Steve could curse in several different languages.

 

Sitting up slowly, James waited for the feeling to come back in his arms so he could resume his efforts. _Hang in there, Stevie_.

 

While he waited, James started planning for his new mission in his mind. The first objective was probably the hardest: getting out of the infernal chains. 

 

The second was his main concern: find and free Steve.

 

The third objective was the one that kept him going: tear Brock Rumlow in two.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower_  
 _New York City_  
 _11:00 PM Local Time_

 

"Nothing, nothing, more nothing!" Sam exclaimed, slamming his tablet down on the conference room table.

 

"Calm yourself Sam," Thor rumbled quietly, though he himself was pacing the room like a caged lion. "We will find them."

 

They'd assembled in the custom built operations room Tony had designed in the Tower, nicknamed "the war room." A bank of wide plasma screens covered one wall s. Tony was accessing—he had banned the term "hacking" on principle—every security camera, traffic cam and police broadcast he could get his hands on, trying to pin down Steve's movements that morning and where he might have been taken. 

 

Iron Legionnaires were patrolling the skies over the city, scanning for any sign of a HYDRA hideout. Mike Howard and his FBI team were combing MacLaren's for any clues that might point them in the right direction. Rhodey was coordinating with the Pentagon. So far, though, Rumlow had evaded detection.

 

HYDRA—while happily making use of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s leftover fleet of quinjets—had wisely altered the aircraft's transponder signals, so none of Hill's technical information was useful. They'd changed the engines, so that their power signatures couldn't be traced. Their stealth modes could be cracked, eventually, but even JARVIS admitted that it would take time, which Steve and James might not have.

 

Even if they did crack the jets' cloaking systems, they had no idea where to look. HYDRA had bases and rat holes all over the world. 

 

Sighing softly, Sam turned to listen to the others. 

 

"I've checked in with my superiors," Simmons said quietly to Hill. "They haven't had any luck tracking Captain Rogers or Sergeant Barnes, either."

 

Hill looked up from her tablet briefly. "When do you need to head back?"

 

"I'd like to stick around, actually. We don't know what condition they'll be in when we find them. You might need an extra medical hand."

 

"I'm sure everyone will appreciate that."

 

Rhodey began talking excitedly into his headset. "Yes, sir, I'm here. Yes. Yes. That's—standby, General." He waved his hand at the room. "Hey, guys, we want to take this call."

 

One of the large screens changed to a secure video feed from the Pentagon. General Talbot's face filled the monitor. " _Gentleman, ladies, I've got some good news for you. Last night, we got a hit on one of the former S.H.I.E.L.D. installations we monitor," Talbot continued. "A high security holding facility in the Colorado Rockies_."

 

"The Vault," Hill supplied.

 

" _That's right_ ," Talbot confirmed. " _Satellite pass caught heat signatures. Thirty to thirty-five people in various places around the base, plus two stationary inside the complex_."

 

"Steve and James," Sam deduced.

 

"Defenses?" Thor asked curtly. 

 

" _Significant, we think_."

 

"The Vault was designed to keep dangerous subjects in and any potential attackers out," Hill said, bringing up a diagram of the prison on another monitor. "Four guard towers, and three-foot thick reinforced walls around the perimeter. Most of the facility is underground, three levels deep inside the mountain."

 

"You can bet Rumlow will be ready for us," Natasha said grimly. 

 

Talbot punched up a satellite photo of the prison on the screen. " _Looks like they've set up machine gun nests in the towers. But, the real danger is in the main yard_."

 

The display shifted to a closer view, showing a small, car-sized mobile missile launcher on treads. Talbot continued. " _Surface-to-air missile launcher. Something out of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s old toy box. They've got a fire control post set up along the western wall. They can cover any approach from that position_." 

 

Tony studied the images. "I think I've got something that'll help." He looked at Talbot. "If you don't mind us kicking in the door, General."

 

Talbot arched an eyebrow. " _Why do you think I'm calling you, Stark?_ " 

 

Tony looked around at the rest of the group, then back to the screen, and smiled. "Just stay clear until we find Steve. We'll let you round up the goons afterward."

 

" _How gracious of you_." Talbot shot back, but he didn't argue. " _My team will be there_."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_The Rocky Mountains_  
 _North of Wolcott, Colorado_  
 _7:00AM Local Time_

 

Gyrich pulled his gloves up under his sleeves, trying to keep his arms warm.

 

It had started snowing a little after dawn, and the incoming winds made the already frigid mountain temperatures plummet to a painfully uncomfortable 18 degrees. Visibility had dropped to less than a mile, and was getting worse, so Gyrich planted himself in the western guard tower, beneath their mobile radar set. The fact that there was a working space heater in that tower was only a bonus. 

 

"Radar contact!" Anders called out from across the room. Gyrich stood and looked over his shoulder at the scan display. "From the silhouette I'd say...quinjet. It's been modified, but— It's them, sir. Has to be." 

 

"And not even bothering to cloak themselves," Gyrich muttered. 

 

He pressed the button on his communicator. "Charlie Team, we have incoming. Standby to fire."

 

Below him in the prison yard, their portable SAM launcher came to life. Control panels lit up, tank treads locked down to make a stable firing platform. Charlie Team quickly armed the four missiles and unlocked the safeties on the booster rockets. Within moments, the four-armed launcher elevated several feet and swiveled into position. The big drum-shaped fire control radar on the front of the mount started scanning, probing the dark, snow laden skies to the east. 

 

" _Missiles loaded and ready_."

 

" _Target painted, we have a lock_." 

Gyrich glanced at the radar screen. The Avengers' jet was ten miles out and closing fast. He waited until the blip passed the two-mile mark. They wouldn't have time to react. "Fire!"

 

One of the six-foot missiles blasted off with a loud, hissing roar, streaking over the prison wall and all but disappearing in the driving snowstorm. All that could be seen was the glowing engine nozzle. 

 

One mile out, the missile's booster rocket fell away and the warhead's engine lit up. The quinjet turned abruptly, trying desperately to evade in the final moments, but the missile altered course to follow and seconds later a bright flash illuminated the dark clouds. 

 

"Direct hit," Anders announced calmly.

 

"Tell Rumlow we got 'em."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

" _Decoy destroyed_." JARVIS announced as the explosion two miles away faded. " _Automatic targeting engaged_."

 

Tony thought he heard a hint of disappointment in the A.I.'s voice. "I'll build you another drone, J."

 

" _You are too good to me, sir_." Came the droll reply. " _Firing missile_."

 

The Quinjet rocked slightly as the anti-radiation missile catapulted from its perch under the port wing and rocketed out into the cloudy sky. Tony watched it leave with some pride. The missile, known in his company's records only as "SI/4805," had been the last military project he'd worked on before heading to Afghanistan for the Jericho demonstration. It was a next generation anti-radar weapon, not only capable of tracking an enemy radar signal even when the target shut down abruptly, but with a stealthy casing that made it all but invisible until it was too late. Stark Industries had built ten prototypes. Tony had borrowed one. 

 

From their position, hovering in a cloud bank less than one mile from the prison, their missile took only five seconds to reach its target—the radar drum on the face of the SAM launcher. It took a direct hit, the three remaining missiles exploding in a massive fireball that lit up the surrounding mountains even through the dense snow flurries of Thor's custom created storm. Secondary explosions flared as the fire spread.

 

Tony nodded at Rhodes. "We're up buddy."

 

He pulled his helmet on, and followed War Machine out through the lower hatch. They parted ways as the jet surged forward. Rhodey headed for the south wall, Tony sped toward the north. The guards were too distracted by the inferno to see either of them coming. 

 

Tony swept past the first tower without slowing down, shattering the roof supports with two repulsor blasts and letting gravity do the rest. He angled along the western wall, knocking two men over the edge to the prison yard below. Another managed to get his rifle up, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off his armor. He blasted the man back, and kept going. 

 

The western guard tower sported a small search radar on its roof. Tony decided to leave it intact for Talbot, and instead of firing on it, crashed through the roof and into the tower instead. Two men were inside, one manning a radar console. Both rose, reaching for rifles. 

 

"Cut off one head—!"

 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tony interrupted, taking both men down with a pair of mini-dart rockets from his shoulder launchers. He walked over to the main console and shut down the radar system. A few more switches shut down the spotlights in the yard and opened up the main gate. The interior prison levels seemed to be on a separate system, but he found the comm system receiver and shut it off, severing Rumlow's ability to coordinate his troops. 

 

"Skylight's open, Hawkeye," he said into his comm. 

 

Through the tower's windows, he saw the jet already coming in for landing in one empty corner of the yard. Before it touched down, Thor vaulted out from the lower hatch and engaged the scattered soldiers who were trying to get away from the fires started by the missile strike. Even their heavy armor didn't help much against an angry Asgardian and his lightning-spewing hammer. 

 

Tony exited through the stairwell door, dropping down to ground level and heading out into the yard. He was met at the prison entrance by Rhodey, Wilson, and Barton. Frowning, Tony turned to scan the battlefield. "Where's Banner?"

 

"Guarding the jet," Barton explained. "He doesn't want to go green unless he has to, in case Steve needs immediate medical attention."

 

"Oh, good call," Tony replied. 

 

" _I thought so_ ," Banner said tensely over the comm. 

 

Tony smirked. "Don't let anyone take our ride."

 

He and Rhodey led the way through the open entrance gate and down into the cellblocks. For some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that they hadn't seen the worst of it all, yet.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

"Tony, on the right!" Rhodey called out, shouting over the din of machine gun fire. Stark fired off a repulsor blast that sent the two flanking soldiers flying.

 

Rumlow's men had set up choke points at almost every intersection of the first level of the prison, falling back from one and setting up again when he and Rhodes pushed through. The HYDRA goons didn't stand a chance, but they were successfully delaying the Avengers' advance. 

 

Sam and Barton, less bulletproof than Iron Man or War Machine, were hanging back and watching the rear as they proceeded deeper into the dimly lit prison.

 

The HYDRA soldiers were well trained. They didn't flinch at the sight of Avengers, and held their ground even as their comrades began to fall around them. Tony and Rhodey had to fight for every inch as they proceeded further into the complex. Barton added a well-timed arrow to the fight, when possible.

 

"Hey, JARVIS? Any read on Steve or Barnes?" Barton asked over the comms. 

 

" _Thermal readings show no occupied rooms on your level_ ," JARVIS replied. " _There are indeterminate signatures deeper underground, however_."

 

"Then that's where we need to go," Sam said.

 

Tony checked the prison plans on his HUD. Level 3 was a high security area. It made sense Rumlow would keep super-soldiers there. He was somewhat worried, though, that Steve and Barnes had been kept from escaping on their own. Both men were notoriously hard to keep down. There were several possible explanations, and none of them made Stark feel good about the situation. 

 

They finally pushed Rumlow's troops back to the main stairwell at the center of the level. Several barricades had been set up there, and Tony had to give their enemy props for trying. They were putting up a helluva fight. A few well-placed repulsor blasts cracked that last line of defense, and War Machine's "icer" rounds knocked almost a dozen soldiers out of commission. 

 

A barrage of lightning crackled from around a corner, sending two brutish HYDRA thugs careening into a wall. They didn't get up. Thor and Romanoff emerged from the hallway, joining Stark and his group by the doors to the stairs. Thor was sporting a bruise along his left cheek, which surprised Tony, who raised his faceplate to peer closer. 

 

The Asgardian noticed his stare. "These cretins fought harder than most of their ilk."

 

Tony smirked. "They just wanted to make it a challenge for you."

 

"We should attack both of the lower levels simultaneously," Thor advised. "It will keep them off balance."

 

"Good idea," Tony nodded. "Why don't you take Rhodey and Clint down to the next level? I'll take Sam and Romanoff and hit the bottom floor."

 

The others nodded in agreement, but Natasha looked apprehensive. "They were expecting a raid. They might have the stairwells rigged."

 

"Indeed," Thor said. "We should find another way down."

 

Tony lowered his faceplate and consulted the plans again briefly. "I have an idea."

 

He stepped back, deployed his wrist mounted lasers, and quickly cut a large circular hole in the floor. Charred concrete, steel and linoleum crashed down to the second level below them. Tony turned to Rhodey. "Sidekicks first."

 

Rhodey muttered something unintelligible, and dropped down through the hole. He landed in the corridor below with a loud _clank_ and deployed his minigun. "Clear!"

 

Tony went next, dropping down behind Rhodey and moving to cover the other end of the hallway while the others descended. In moments they regrouped, and Stark repeated the process, cutting an entry to the third level. He was more careful dropping down, in case the high-security level offered greater threats. Natasha and Sam were close behind. 

 

No one was in that corridor, but Tony kept his eyes on his HUD's readings as they moved. Many of Rumlow's men were out of commission on the levels above, but they hadn't stopped to do a proper headcount. "J, got anything?"

 

" _There are readings approximately twenty meters ahead of you, sir. At the end of that cell block_." 

 

He moved quickly in that direction, keeping his shoulder-mounted missile launchers primed and ready. Nothing moved around them, and the suit's metal footfalls seemed uncomfortably loud. The level seemed eerily deserted, and they reach the cell without interference. 

 

"Is it wired?" Natasha asked, examining the door. 

 

"I don't think so," Tony replied, scanning the wall in front of them with the suit's sensors. 

 

"I don't like it," Sam said softly. "Where are the guards?"

 

"Maybe they sent the guards up to fight us." Tony mused. 

 

"Or they don't consider their prisoners a threat," Natasha said with a grim expression.

 

"Let's find out." Tony raised his right hand and focused the repulsor into a tight beam that swiftly melted through the handle and locking mechanism. He pushed the door open and stepped through first. The cell was mostly bare except for the heap of Winter Soldier on the floor by a cot. 

 

Barnes was lying on his side, soaked in sweat, flesh hand trembling as he determinedly tried to force open a set of chains that wrapped around his arms from his wrists up to his biceps. He cried out when the chains emitted a crackling electric shock. 

 

Tony moved forward and found the power source for the chains where they connected on a steel rod between Barnes' wrists. It was a good design. With no sharp edges or leverage, even someone like Barnes wouldn't have been able to smash the little power cell. Tony snapped the connections with his armored fingers and then broke the chains. 

 

Barnes looked disoriented as he was suddenly freed, and peered up at them in confusion. Tony shook his head. The kid must have been working at those chains for hours. 

 

Sam and Natasha knelt down and helped Barnes sit up. 

 

"Are you all right?" She asked. 

 

Barnes seemed to come to his senses a little, and something more than recognition passed over his face when his eyes focused on Romanoff. There was definitely something there. Tony filed that tidbit away for the future. 

 

"Just a little pissed off," Barnes shot back, sharing an almost imperceptible smile with her. He looked up at Tony. "Thanks." 

 

Tony nodded. "No problem. Any idea where they have Cap?" 

 

Barnes shook his head. "I don't know."

 

Another unidentifiable expression passed over his face when he said it. Barnes was holding something back. Before Tony could press him on what, Romanoff and Wilson were helping the former assassin to his feet. 

 

"Can you walk?" Sam asked. 

 

"Yes," Barnes said curtly, already shaking their guiding hands off. "The guards?"

 

"We got 'em on the run," Sam answered. 

 

Barnes glanced at him, appearing doubtful, but headed for the door. "We need to find Steve."

 

They had all cleared the cell and were walking up the corridor when a klaxon suddenly sounded. Red lights in the ceiling blinked and bathed the whole area in a crimson glow. Signs mounted on the walls glowed, warning of a prisoner escape in progress. 

 

Three HYDRA troopers appeared at the far end of the hall, near the hole Tony had cut, and opened fire on them. Stark stepped out in front of the others to block the hail of bullets. Natasha returned fire with her Glocks, while Sam grabbed Barnes and dove around the corner for cover. 

 

Unfortunately, as they fell back, a thick metal blast door slammed shut, bisecting the hallway and separating Sam and Barnes from Tony and Romanoff. Tony sent a small missile from his wrist gauntlet down the corridor to keep the HYDRA goons occupied, then turned and gave the door a quick scan. The results were disappointing. "Vibranium alloy," he muttered. "What the hell?"

 

"S.H.I.E.L.D. kept powerful people in this place," Natasha said. 

 

"It'll take time to burn through it," Tony said grimly. "Keep the Stooges occupied for me."

 

Their assailants were regrouping in the distance. Natasha shrugged and reloaded her handguns. "I'll see what I can do."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

Sam tested the metal bulkhead, but he could already tell they weren't getting through it without help. "Damn."

 

He turned to check on James. "Are you all ri—?"

 

Barnes was no where to be seen, but someone else was. A few meters down the hall, Brock Rumlow stood sneering at Sam. He was wearing black armor, like the rest of his men, with a broad white X on the chest. "Well, well, if it isn't bird boy."

 

Sam drew his SPPs. "Well, well, if it isn't that asshole I thought I dropped a building on."

 

Rumlow chuckled. "Still needing a lesson in respect."

 

"You've gone from terrorism to kidnapping, Rumlow. I thought HYDRA didn't take prisoners?"

 

"Oh, I just meant _you_ ," Rumlow said tauntingly. "HYDRA's wanted Cap for longer than you've been around, and the Asset was already ours."

 

"Why don't you surrender before my friends kill all of yours?" Sam said coldly, with more confidence than he was feeling. Rumlow had outfought him at the Triskelion, and he looked more intimidating now, with his scarred face and even thicker arms than before. He needed to buy time for Tony to get through the barricade.

 

"Nah, I'm holding the cards here, punk. Now it's time for us to finish our lesson."

 

Sam stopped just outside of Rumlow's reach, and glanced past him down the corridor. A broad smile broke on his face. 

 

Rumlow frowned. "What's so funny?"

 

"Nothing," Sam shrugged, then motioned over Rumlow's shoulder. "Just that he's about to go all 'Winter Soldier' on your ass, and I get to watch."

 

Rumlow frowned and spun around, just in time to catch Barnes' metal fist with his chin.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_The Rocky Mountains_  
 _North of Wolcott, Colorado_  
 _8:35AM Local Time_

 

James and Sam circled Rumlow slowly. The HYDRA enforcer was outnumbered and boxed in, but didn't seem the slightest bit worried. 

"I don't know why you're fighting for them, Barnes," Rumlow taunted, rubbing his jaw. "They just make you _weak_. HYDRA was the only home you ever had."

"No, it wasn't." James sneered back. He was fairly certain he could take down Rumlow, despite his exhaustion. But, it was nice to have Wilson covering him just in case.

Rumlow wasn't done talking, though. "You know, I meant what I said before. I never liked watching you in that machine."

James ignored him, tensing up in preparation to strike. 

"Rogers, though? _That_ I watched."

Everything slowed to a stop as he processed the words, and James' blood turned as cold as it did when he'd been put to sleep all those times. _No_. Eyes widening, he glanced at Wilson. "Sam, get out of here and find Steve. Now!"

Wilson pulled back and edged around them, heading down the hallway. Rumlow didn't bother stopping him. Instead, he looked at James with something resembling contempt. "You're obsolete, Barnes. A relic. The new soldier will be _perfect_."

Arnim Zola's words echoed in James' memory.

_The procedure has already started..._

_You will be the new fist of HYDRA..._

_You have provided such excellent service to us, Sergeant. Perhaps it is destined that Captain Rogers will as well?_

The cold racing through his veins hardened into something else. Rage. Dr. Nieves had been probing at something for weeks, asking him what or who he was angry at, but he could never put the answer into words. At first, she'd thought it might be Steve, but that wasn't right. It was HYDRA...but not just the organization. It wasn't just _what_ they'd done, it was _why_ they'd done it. It was how they could so casually destroy a person and not care where the wreckage ended up. It was the terrifying way they could take a sociopathic soldier like Brock Rumlow and transform him into the even worse monster he was squaring off against. 

And, yes, it was what they'd done to _him_ , too. But, not just for his own sake. The fallout had extended beyond the scope of even what HYDRA had anticipated, hurting Steve and many other people long after he'd been locked in a freezer and put away.

Now it seemed that they'd hurt Steve again.

The rage grew, past any hope of James restraining it. It could only be let out. He charged at Rumlow.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

Sam bolted down the corridor, Rumlow's words replaying in his head. The implication disturbed him, but not as much as the look of palpable fear he'd seen in Barnes' eyes. In the few times he'd been close to the former Winter Soldier, he'd never seen a look like that.

The corridor was deserted, the only sound the rhythmic _whooping_ of the emergency alarm. There were two other containment doors. The first hadn't activated, and the second had closed partway and stuck, its unmaintained mechanisms jammed. Yellow malfunction lights blinked plaintively, but there were no technicians around to repair them. Sam slipped past them quietly, hunting for any sign of Steve, or, alternately, another way up to the second level.

He proceeded cautiously, in case any of Rumlow's men were still lurking. It was a wise choice. As he rounded the next corner in the labyrinth of the prison, he came upon two soldiers guarding a cell. 

They spotted him at the same moment he spotted them. He ducked back around the corner as bullets split the air where he'd just been standing. Sam released the safeties in his SPPs, and took a deep breath. There were only two of them, but the hallway was tight and there was no room to maneuver.

In the end, he didn't need to worry about a shootout. There was an ominous rumble from overhead, and the ceiling above the guards exploded in a rain of concrete, steel and insulation. 

Thor dropped down through the hole, ready for battle, but the two guards had gone down with the debris. Sam smiled, stepping out around the corner. 

"Nice entrance."

The Asgardian smirked faintly, but his tone was all business. "The second level is secure."

Hawkeye and Rhodes dropped down behind him. The archer motioned toward the door that the two hapless soldiers had been guarding. "JARVIS was able to get a clear scan. We followed the heat signatures here."

"I don't see any booby traps," Rhodes said, scanning the wall with his armor's sensors.

"Then let us waste no more time," Thor said grimly. He swung Mjolnir in a wide arc, shattering the thick metal with the impact, hinges shearing away from their supports. The handle and lock stood, absurdly still attached to the frame, but it could no longer keep anyone out.

Thor went in first, Sam close on his heels. They both halted a few feet inside. Two HYDRA technicians in lab coats stood frozen in place, stunned by the break-in, mouths gaping. But, it was Steve that held Sam's attention. 

"Oh my God," Sam breathed. 

Steve was seated in a chair with thick restraints, unconscious. Sweat drenched his bare chest and hair. There were burn marks on his face and forehead. 

Monitors and other equipment flanked him, displaying various kinds of data and his—thankfully stable—vital signs. Sam looked at Thor, who for once appeared as rattled as Sam felt. 

The Asgardian looked over his shoulder and barked at Hawkeye. "Find the others. Now."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

Rumlow crashed into the wall and fell to the floor with a pained grunt. James didn't let up, closing in and delivering a punishing jab with his metal fist into the soldier's side. He was surprised when his fist connected with a _clang_.

The other man chuckled and looked up at him, pulling his armored vest up slightly so James could see beneath the black tunic. Chrome plating covered skin, and small glowing orange lights showed between seams of metal. 

"Needed an upgrade after I got burned up," Rumlow wheezed. He spun, using his legs to swipe James' feet out from under him. Barnes hit the floor, hard, but recovered quickly and flipped himself back into an upright position. He backed off, giving himself some room. 

Rumlow staggered to his feet, noticeably slower than Barnes, but resumed a fighting stance. James was wearing him down despite his own exhaustion and Rumlow's unexpected reserves of strength. 

"Guess I should thank _you_ for it, since the tech is based off your arm," Rumlow continued, circling slowly, though visibly unsteady on his feet. He pointed toward the floor where he'd just been. "Nice move, by the way. I've seen the Widow do that same trick."

Barnes snarled and launched himself forward, leaping up, catching Rumlow's head between his knees, spinning and flipping him over, slamming him into the floor once more. James followed with a left hook with his metal fist, and Rumlow finally went limp. 

He kept punching. Every fiber of his being told him to murder the son of a bitch in front of him. His arm moved almost without his telling it to, like it had a mind of its own and wanted Rumlow dead, too. One more blow would finish it. He reared back, but stopped. 

_You are a killer. You were a killer when those men found you in the river_.

James looked at his clenched vibranium fist, studied it for a moment, then looked back at Rumlow's bloodied face. Maybe Lukin was right. He drove his fist down as hard as he could.

"Who do you think taught her that move, asshole?" James murmured, staring at the dent in the concrete floor next to Rumlow's head. 

Maybe he _was_ a killer, but that didn't mean he couldn't be anything else. 

He lowered himself tiredly to the floor and scooted until his bruised back was resting against the cold wall. His exhaustion was catching up with him. 

His first instinct was to get up and find Steve, but he couldn't leave Rumlow there unguarded. All he could do was stew while he waited for Stark or Sam to return. He couldn't remember the last time he prayed, but he prayed for Sam to appear with good news. _Steve's okay...Rumlow was bluffing...._

Sparks erupted from a line in the heavy door. Stark was probably burning through it. James sat and watched, keeping one eye on the other end of the hallway to make sure Rumlow didn't have any more friends. _Come on, Stark, hurry up_.

It was a good five minutes before a hole large enough to step through was carved in the door. Iron Man's helmet appeared, peering through the opening. 

James glared, dabbing his busted lower lip with his flesh hand. "Took you long enough."

Stark raised his faceplate and looked from Barnes to Rumlow and back. "Doesn't look like you were bored."

Natasha followed Stark through, and knelt beside him. "You okay?"

He smiled softly, despite the worry that was gnawing at his gut. "We gotta stop meeting like this."

Stark produced restraints from a compartment in his armor, and tied Rumlow's slack hands behind his back. He rolled the unconscious man over and did the same for his ankles, to make sure he couldn't escape.

James let Natasha help him to his feet. He needed to find Steve, get them out of this hellhole, and get something to eat. In that order. _Just like Baslieux, all over again_ , he mused silently. Then he frowned. He couldn't remember why Baslieux had been so bad. 

Stark had just risen to join them when Barton appeared from around a corner further down the hall. He looked shaken. 

"Guys...we found Steve."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

Tony entered the cell after Hawkeye and Barnes, but stopped short just inside. Steve was seated, unconscious, in a chair. Angry-looking burns dotted his forehead, but were already visibly healing. Restraints on the armrests had been unlocked.

Barnes stood frozen beside him for a moment, looking horrified at the sight, but then hurried to Steve's side and knelt down beside him. He whispered something, but Tony couldn't make it out from that distance. 

"Banner's prepping the medical equipment on the jet," Natasha said quietly, looking a bit shaken. "But he doesn't think...."

" _I'm gonna need time to examine the damage_ ," Banner said quietly over the comms. " _We don't know much about what we're dealing with, yet_."

"They do," Barton rumbled, nodding at their prisoners.

Two HYDRA technicians in lab coats were nearby. One, a young, thin male in his twenties, was huddled against the back wall of the cell, clearly cowed by the presence of the Avengers. The other, a middle-aged man with round glasses and thinning hair, didn't seem fazed at all, staring them down with an almost proud expression. Sam was holding him near Steve, next to where Barnes knelt. 

Tony opened his armor and stepped out, setting it to sentry mode. He stepped over and examined the computer controls to the right of the chair. Generally speaking, it was much like the setup seen in the Winter Soldier files, and in the wrecked bank vault in Washington that Mike Howard's agents had uncovered a few months back. Clearly its purpose was the same, given the readouts on the screens. Unfortunately, Tony didn't know enough about it to discern any kind of way of reversing the process. 

Knowing their enemy, there likely wasn't one.

He turned and looked at Barnes, and the sight surprised him. The former assassin was hovering close to Steve, murmuring quietly into his ear...and he looked to be on the verge of panic. The acerbic, taciturn recovering amnesiac was gone, replaced by a frightened and very helpless-looking young man whose best friend was lying unconscious, victim of a nightmarish torture. 

Tony almost said something glib, maybe something that would make everything seem less dire— _Steve can't be brought down this easily_ , or _we'll fix this in no time_ —something that might break the dark spell that had entranced Barnes and Sam and all his on-looking friends. Unfortunately, the balding scientist squirming in Sam's grip opened his mouth first. 

"It took us some time to find the right settings," he proclaimed, a trace of a Russian accent coming through. "But once we increased the voltage, we were able to recreate the original machine's function quite well."

Stark recoiled from the words. The man was _proud_ of his accomplishment. He'd solved a complex bio-engineering problem, nothing more, nothing less. The arrogant words were vile, repugnant...and the very worst thing the man could have possibly said in present company.

Tony actually saw the change. Something inside Barnes flipped like a light switch. He stopped whispering to Steve. His expression went from scared and vulnerable to cold and utterly predatory. He was on his feet before any of them could react, and snapped the HYDRA technician's neck like a dry twig. 

Barnes spun and leapt clear over Steve and Tony, grabbing the younger scientist by the throat and slamming him into the wall. He raised his metal fist for what Tony knew would certainly be a killing blow.

Fortunately for the stunned HYDRA lackey, Thor was as fast as the Winter Soldier. He appeared at Barnes' side seemingly from nowhere and seized the metal fist in midair, stopping its drive toward the man's skull. "Barnes! Stop! We need him alive!"

Barnes looked at the Asgardian as though he'd grown a second head. " _Why?_ Look what they did to him!" he said through gritted teeth, both incredulous and furious.

"He may have information we can use to heal the Captain," Thor said forcefully, but with a hint of sympathy that surprised Tony and clearly Barnes as well. 

The former assassin stared at Thor for a moment, panting, looking like he might resist, then turned to the hapless HYDRA tech, who was frozen in shock. After a long, tense pause, Barnes relented and lowered his hand. 

"When you're through with him," Barnes growled, daring to poke his finger at Thor's armored chest. "He's _mine_."

The tech went three shades paler, and Tony wouldn't have been surprised if he fainted any second.

"When Steven is healed, we will grant you your vengeance, you have my word." Thor replied with deadly calm. Tony caught the look on his face, and believed every bit of it. Barnes obviously did as well. He stalked away, returning silent and seething to Steve's side.

Natasha stepped forward, placing her hands on Barnes' shoulders with a gentleness that surprised Stark yet again. James didn't react, instead keeping his pain-filled eyes on Steve's slack face. Tony turned away to study the controls again. It hurt just to look at him.

"Tony, is there anything...?" Romanoff asked quietly. 

He shook his head, trying to stay professional. "No. Not from here, anyway. Pretty obvious they weren't concerned with reversing the process."

"Makes sense," Romanoff said softly. 

"We should take all this equipment back to the tower," Stark said, hoping he sounded detached and in control, even though he was far from it. "They have brain scans and readouts of the operation. Bruce you should see these."

"Tony, what about...?" Sam spoke up, motioning silently toward Barnes. 

Stark looked at the other man for a moment. They needed to go, but they needed cooperation, too. "Hey...um, Bucky, buddy? We need to get him to the jet. Can you help us with that?"

Barnes looked up at him, frowning. Tony wondered if he was going to object to the nickname, but the switch had flipped back, and it was just that scared young man looking at him in mild confusion. After a moment, Barnes nodded and scooped Steve up like he weighed nothing, carrying him carefully toward the door.

Sam moved across the room, and zip-tied the younger technician's wrists. The quivering prisoner's eyes were locked on Barnes' retreating back. "He's...he's insane...."

"Hey!" Wilson smacked the man's cheek to get his attention. "You keep your mouth shut until we get to New York, then you answer every question we ask you. Play nice, and maybe we'll turn you over to the Feds instead of feeding you to _him_." He punctuated the threat with a nod toward Barnes. "Got it?" 

The young man nodded silently and offered no resistance when Sam shoved him toward the exit. 

"Natasha, Barton, Rhodes," Thor said sternly, taking command of the situation. "Clear the rest of this level. Take whatever survivors you find to join the prisoners in the courtyard."

No one objected. They filed out silently. Thor turned to Tony. 

"Whatever equipment you need from this machine, take it," the Asgardian said in a low voice. His fingers tightened around Mjolnir's handle, causing static electricity to crackled along the hammer's surface. "I intend to bury this accursed place."

Tony nodded numbly. Talbot would be furious, but he honestly couldn't have cared less. Thor was right. _This place should be destroyed_. Shaking his head, Tony set about finding the shutdown sequence for the machines, and started cataloguing the components he might need to take.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower_  
 _New York City_

 

" _I can't say I'm all that pleased, Ms. Hill_ ," Talbot said. " _We wanted this place intact_."

Maria glanced at the rubble visible over the general's shoulder that marked the remains of the Vault after Thor collapsed the ground it sat upon. "I'm sorry, General, but the place was rigged with booby traps. HYDRA didn't want anyone getting their hands on their toys."

" _Mm_ ," Talbot shrugged. " _Well, it's one more rat hole I can scratch off my list, in any event. That counts for something. Any word on Cap's condition?_ "

"No change," she frowned. "Still critical. What about Rumlow and his men?"

Talbot's mouth twisted into a feral grin. " _Rumlow's in the medical wing at Leavenworth right now, then it's a one way trip to SuperMax for him. If I get my way, his men will spend a few months in Gitmo before the U.S. Attorney files terrorism charges. Either way, they're done_."

Hill felt a twinge of satisfaction at that. She made a mental note to forward the good news to Coulson when things settled down.

" _Anyway_ ," Talbot continued. " _The excavators are moving in tomorrow morning. I've got work to do. Keep me in the loop about Rogers_." 

"Of course." Hill nodded and signed off. The general was one of less than twenty people from the President down that knew what had transpired in Colorado. Despite a rocky start, Talbot had proven useful to them in fighting HYDRA over the previous months. She'd keep the general in the know.

What he _needed_ to know, per usual.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower, Medical Wing_  
 _New York City_

 

The flight back to New York had been quiet. James had stayed close to Steve, but he wasn't naive enough to think he could actually do anything to help. Banner had examined them both during the flight. James was none the worse for the wear, just tired. Steve hadn't woken up yet, and Banner attributed it to shock from the procedure.

James remembered his wipes—some of them, anyway—but the details were fuzzy. He didn't know how long he'd stayed out after each procedure. Usually he'd come back from it numb, little more than an empty vessel waiting for orders. There were always orders. Someone else always pointed him in the next direction, giving the raw, ingrained talent a purpose.

He wondered what Steve would wake up to.

Once back at the Tower, they'd set Steve up in the medical wing. Banner and Stark busied themselves transferring the equipment captured from the prison, and tried to make heads or tails of what they had in front of them versus what they'd seen in the Winter Soldier files. 

James stayed by Steve's bedside. There was little else for him to do, at least for the moment. The only sounds were the rhythmic beeps from the monitors and the hum of the building's ventilation. 

He was distantly aware of Sam milling around. The other man didn't have anything to occupy his time either. Waiting was always the worst part of bad situations. James idly wondered if he should say something comforting, but nothing sprang to mind, and he wasn't sure he'd be capable of such an act even if the words did manifest. Steve would know what to say. Steve always knew what to say.

Steve was going to have to wake up and say it.

"I'm...going to run to the apartment. Get him some clothes for when...." Sam trailed off. "Um, do you need anything?"

James glanced at him. Sam had the look of someone desperately trying to feel useful. He envied that Sam had even a minor chore like that to cling on to. James couldn't seem to find even that much. He shook his head. 

Sam turned and moved slowly for the door. He had his hand on the handle when James spoke. 

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"My room. In the closet, there's a bag. Side pocket, there's a little...um...what's it—? A drive. A flash drive. Can you bring it to me?"

He wondered if the surprised look he received was because he'd spoken, or asked for a favor, or was granting permission to invade his privacy. In the end, he supposed it didn't matter. Sam nodded and left, leaving them alone.

James couldn't help but replay the previous few days in his mind's eye. Maybe if he'd gone with Steve for his run the other morning this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if he hadn't forgotten his phone, he would have been there to answer Steve's call. Maybe if he'd tried a little harder to free himself, he might have gotten out before Rumlow put Steve in the machine....

Drowning in "maybes," James couldn't help but see this as his fault. Rumlow had been tracking _him_ to begin with. Steve had only gotten in HYDRA's way, once again. Rumlow and his men had been captured, but the damage was done.

He leaned in, close enough that only Steve would be able to hear. "I'm sorry."

There was no answer.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

The lights were too bright.

He squinted, instinctively bringing a hand up to cover his tearing eyes. A chemical smell pervaded the air like a hospital. The room was mostly white, sleek looking. He heard a steady stream of beeps and tones, maybe from the equipment that flanked the bed. 

Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge and tried to get his bearings. He heard a faint cough somewhere nearby. 

_It's okay, Ma. Here take some water...._

He flinched at the image in his mind's eye. A woman in bed, coughing violently, drenched in sweat, her face gaunt, almost skeletal. 

And then there was a voice, male. _We looked for you, after the funeral...._

The voice in his head was immediately followed by a wave of pain that crashed over him. It felt like his brain was on fire.

"Hey, you're awake!"

The new voice startled him. He looked up in confusion. "Where...where am I?"

The man seemed concerned. "You're in New York. We brought you back here."

_You're in a recovery room in New York City...._

It was wrong. It felt wrong. The game was wrong. He'd been there. He blinked. _What game?_

He looked up at the other man again, suspicious. "Where am I really?"

"I don't—" The man frowned, worry clouding his face. "Steve, listen to me, okay?"

"Who the hell is Steve?" It wasn't right. Didn't feel right. He tried to think, but there was nothing. It was like standing in fog. Confusion bled into anger. He stood up. "Who are you?"

_I just want you to know, Big Guy. This time? It was very, very personal._

Pain. Everywhere. In his head. He tried to think, tried to remember how he got here, but that only made the pain worse. 

_See, Jack? That's how you hit a nerve._

"Cap, calm down—"

_Run. Escape. This is all wrong. They're lying to you...._

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

"We don't have much to go on, Tony." Banner sighed, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. "Besides, I'm sure this was meant to be a one-way process."

Tony glanced over at him from his lab table. "Not much choice. I took everything that looked useful, and we've got one of their science-goons to walk us through the data."

Banner frowned. HYDRA's lackeys weren't known for being helpful. "Assuming he tells the truth."

"He'll tell the truth," Tony retorted. "Or we'll hand him over to the One-Armed Man."

"That may be unwise," Jemma Simmons chimed in from her computer terminal. She was looking over Cap's medical scans. "I don't think the Sergeant would give him much time to confess."

"Incentive," Tony said with a wicked gleam in his eye.

"If only we had the original designs, or Sergeant Barnes' medical files," Simmons mused, reading through one of the reports. 

"Maybe this will help."

Banner started at the new voice, turning to find Barnes standing just inside the door. He was holding up a thumb drive.

"What is that?" Tony asked. 

"My medical history. Some of the files date back to the 40s," Barnes said simply. "I took a hard drive from the bank vault when I wrecked the place last year. Found a—" He pause, looking uncertain. "Found a friend to sort through all the information and he saved it for me on this." 

Barnes stepped over and held it out so that Simmons could take it. She reached out tentatively, and accepted the little device. 

Banner shook his head, in confusion. "James...why didn't you show us that earlier? It might have helped you when you came back here. Or when your arm was damaged."

James' eyes dropped to the floor, and he shrugged. "Doctors and scientists...haven't exactly been good to me over the years. I guess I didn't trust you."

Bruce shared a look with Tony, who looked like he understood the sentiment. HYDRA had done a number on Barnes, after all. "So, what's changed?"

"If something on there can help Steve..." Barnes said, motioning somewhat helplessly toward the drive. "I guess I _have_ to trust you now."

JARVIS interrupted the conversation. " _Sir, there seems to be a problem in_ —"

" _Guys!_ " Sam's voice cut in, he sounded out of breath. " _Steve's awake, but_ —"

There was a loud clang, and Wilson went silent.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_Avengers Tower_  
 _New York City_  
 _11:00 PM, Local Time_

 

James took the stairs two at a time. JARVIS had sealed off all the lower floors of the tower, leaving Steve no place to go but up. Even so, Rogers was leading them in a merry chase through the upper levels. He'd already taken down two of Stark's Legionnaires, and apparently taken out a junction box by accident that blinded JARVIS' internal sensors. 

 

Not bad for a guy who didn't know who or where he was.

 

Sam was bruised and dizzy, but fortunately no worse for the wear. He had donned his wings and was patrolling outside the building to make sure Steve didn't try anything stupid like exiting through a balcony or off the roof.

 

Banner elected to stay in the lab with Simmons. Steve wasn't in a talking mood, and there was a risk of the Hulk coming out if Steve got violent with Banner. Stark and Barton were heading up the north stairwell. Thor and Natasha had taken an elevator up to the roof and were working their way down, level by level. James marked their progress through his earpiece.

 

He had just finished searching the common room when Thor's voice crackled through the comm. 

 

" _Steven just fled the guest level_." Thor reported, then added with wry humor. " _He is not in a gaming mood_."

 

" _What does that mean?_ " Barton asked.

 

" _Thor's going to have a hell of a black eye_ ," Natasha explained.

 

James couldn't help but smile. A super-soldier in fight-or-flight mode, adrenaline pumping...Thor was lucky Steve wasn't an inherently violent person. He doubled back, heading for the stairs that would take him up to their level.

 

" _Don't worry Point Break_ ," Stark replied. " _You can't look any worse than Wilson does right now_."

 

" _I see him!_ " Sam called out. " _Balcony level. Looks like he's headed for the landing pad_."

 

" _J, lock down the hangar_ ," Stark ordered. 

 

" _Already doing so, sir_."

 

James stopped and mentally charted where he was in the building. He changed course and headed for the south side. "I'm close. Heading down." 

 

He made it to the balcony overlooking the landing pad, and immediately spotted Steve looking for a way off the locked-down level. "I have him in sight."

 

Leaping over the railing, he dropped the thirty feet down to the deck, just a short distance from Steve. He raised his right hand in a calming gesture. "Steve! Listen to me. I'm not gonna hurt you."

 

Steve wasn't hearing him. James could see the panic in his eyes even at that distance. Ironically, he supposed he was lucky. He had been conditioned for obedience, and to wait for orders. All those times he'd awoken from being wiped, he'd been spared the panic of not knowing who he was or what was happening around him. Rogers took off running, toward the edge of the platform. 

 

James ran after him. "Wilson, where are you?"

 

" _In position. I can catch him if he goes over_."

 

He spared a glance skyward, and saw the glow of Sam's jetpack in the darkness above them.

 

Steve, even panicked and confused, apparently wasn't completely out of his mind. He skidded to a stop when he reached the edge, just short of the safety nets that rimmed the pad. James slowed, positioning himself so that Steve was cornered. 

 

"Who are you people? What did you do to me?" Steve demanded, backing up as James got closer.

 

"We didn't hurt you," James began, raising his hands slowly so he'd appear less threatening. "It's a long story. Your friends—we're trying to help you. Just come back inside. You're safe."

 

Steve frowned. "Why should I believe you?"

 

James suppressed a sigh. Stevie always had been an untrusting little jerk. _Some things can't be erased, I guess_. 

 

" _James, he's too close to the edge. Take him down before he hurts himself_ ," Natasha said through the comm.

 

It would be relatively easy. James had edged closer while they'd been talking. A sucker punch with his cybernetic arm might be all it took. But, he wasn't going to do that. There'd been exactly two days in his life when he'd raised a fist in anger to Steve Rogers—both the previous April. There wouldn't be a third.

 

He decided simplicity might be best. "Because I'm your friend. And I'm not lying to you."

 

Steve paused, looking him up and down. "We're friends?"

 

"Since grade school."

 

Rogers frowned, like he was trying to think, then grimaced and clutched his head in pain. "W-why can't I remember?"

 

"We're gonna figure that out. I promise," James said. "I'm going to fix you up, good as new. 'Til the end of the line, Stevie, I meant that."

 

Steve's eyes widened for a moment, and James dared to hope that maybe he'd hit on a connection.

 

A moment later, though, Steve brought both hands to the sides of his head and staggered back, crying out. He stepped back blindly, and his foot went right off the edge of the landing platform. The safety net tangled around his ankle, but in the cross wind that far up, all it served to do was topple him backwards. 

 

James lunged forward. His vibranium hand wrapped around Steve's flailing right forearm, but Rogers' weight threatened to pull both of them over the edge. James fell forward, driving his flesh and blood hand through the safety netting in an effort to brace them. He ended up halfway over the ledge, one arm tangled in the nets, and his metal hand clutching Steve's forearm as tightly as he dared. Steve swayed in the wind, pulling painfully on James' arm and shoulder. 

 

" _Hang on, I'm coming in!_ " Wilson called out.

 

Steve wasn't going to last flailing helplessly, however. The servos in James' arm whined with the strain. "Steve, grab on with your other hand!"

 

Fear had taken hold of Rogers again. With a thousand foot drop beneath them, no one could blame him for it. James squeezed his arm to get his attention. "You gotta trust me, pal, or we're both going over." 

 

Something got through. Steve visibly calmed, and managed to grab onto his arm with both hands. James let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and glanced up, looking for Sam.

 

"Where are you, Wilson?" He growled. "Nothing with wings should be this fucking slow."

 

The words were just out when Wilson appeared behind Steve and grabbed hold of him. "Calm down, I'm already here." 

 

Steve shot James a questioning look, but let Sam lift him up and back over onto the platform. James carefully disentangled himself from the nets and rolled over. Sam was already back, offering a hand to help him up. 

 

"Nice catch," Sam said quietly.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower_  
 _1:00 AM, Local Time_

 

James fell back on the bed—Steve's bed, actually, Steve himself was resting in the infirmary once more, after he and Sam had talked him into staying put—and let the exhaustion catch up with him. It'd been a torturously long few days, and aside from some time unconscious, James hadn't rested much.

 

He rubbed his face and let out a soft groan as he sank into the mattress. It was too soft. But, the pillow was nice, and as he let his eyes drift shut, he idly hoped that he'd be too tired to dream, for once. He was nearly out when he sensed a presence in the room, and heard the scuff of a shoe.

 

" _What?_ " he rumbled. 

 

"Sorry, didn't know you were asleep."

 

He pushed himself up on his elbows and wearily opened his eyes to glare at his visitor. "Go away, Wilson. I don't want to talk about my _feelings_ right now."

 

Sam huffed. "Why does everyone think I'm in counseling mode when I drop in?"

 

James frowned at the subdued tone of voice, but let the comment pass unaddressed. "How's Steve?"

 

"Sleeping, finally. I imagine he needs it," Sam replied, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "I guess you do too. I'm sorry, I should go."

 

"I'll live," James blurted out, suddenly not wanting to be alone. Sam stopped before reaching the door, and turned back, though he didn't make eye contact. James tilted his head. "What did you want to talk about?"

 

Sam looked startled. "What do you mean?"

 

"You didn't come in here just to tell me Steve is asleep." James said.

 

The other man hesitated, but finally folded his arms and walked deeper into the room. "I, uh, wanted to ask you a question."

 

James just raised his eyebrows expectantly. Sam started and stopped a few times before finally coming out with it.

 

"Rumlow...after everything he did—to Steve, to you—I'm not sure I could have stopped myself from killing the bastard." Sam fidgeted. "How did you?"

 

Barnes frowned, looking away. He'd rather not have talked about any of that, especially given what happened later. But, Sam was Steve's friend, and a good one, it seemed. James couldn't bring himself to push him away.

 

"I could have broken him in two," he admitted, keeping his eyes on a shadowy corner of the room. "I wanted to. But, some part of me knew that if I did that, I wouldn't be able to look Steve in the eye later. And I wanted to be able to." He huffed a disgusted laugh. "Too bad that part of me didn't take over with those doctors. Steve wouldn't approve of what I did back there."

 

"I don't think anyone's shedding any tears over that," Sam said. There was an undertone of cold fury in his voice. 

 

James knew how he felt. "When I saw Steve in that chair...it was like looking in a mirror." He shot Wilson a grim smile. "I don't like looking in the mirror, Sam. I don't like the guy who stares back at me."

 

Sam said nothing. James shook his head slowly. "When I saw him, all I could see was what they did to me. Those same people. The same words. It was happening again and I couldn't stop it...and the other guy just came out." James noted Sam's confused look. "I've been pushing him away for months. Tried to pretend it was all over. The doc says I shouldn't think of the Winter Soldier as someone else. It was me and I need to 'accept' it. I guess she's right. He's not going away."

 

There in the dark, it felt safe enough to admit it, at last. Maybe all Steve's hard work had been for nothing. There was always going to be a killer, just underneath the surface, waiting to lash out. "I don't think I can be the guy Steve wants me to be."

 

"He wants you to be _you_ ," Sam scoffed.

 

"He wants that guy in the museum." James said softly. "He wants his best friend back."

 

"He _has_ his best friend back," Sam said, sounding certain of it. "I see his face when he's around you, and I never see disappointment."

 

"Well, Steve's not the brightest guy in the world," James jibed, deflecting the compliment.

 

"No argument there," Sam said, smiling for a moment. "How are we going to help him?"

 

James turned to stare out the expansive windows, watching the bright lights of the city skyline, and felt more than a little helpless. He shrugged. "I dunno."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower, Medical Wing_  
 _New York City_  
 _2:00 PM_

 

Doctors Banner and Simmons took three days to go through all the records James had given them. Stark had struck out on figuring out a way to reverse the process using the machine itself. That sad fact both surprised none of them and disappointed all of them. 

 

James and Sam pulled up lab stools and sat while Simmons brought up their findings on one of the lab's holographic displays. Banner put his glasses on and activated another display of various brain scans. 

 

"All right. James, let's start with you. These are scans of your brain from the last time HYDRA used the machine on you."

 

The scans showed large glowing red areas along the frontal lobe. Banner pressed a button on his tablet and another scan appeared. "These scans are from a few months earlier, and we have a scan before the memory wipe, and one immediately after." 

 

The scans were very different, with the before scan showing considerably less red. Banner continued. "This is why HYDRA had to keep wiping you. Your brain tissue heals at an extraordinary rate compared to a normal human being. The machine likely would have killed anyone who didn't have your enhancements. But, the same healing factor that allowed the machine to work in the first place also forced them to perform the wipes on a regular basis. The longer the interval between procedures, the more your brain healed. As it healed, your memories started to resurface." 

 

"We should probably clarify," Simmons interjected. "the term 'memory wipe' is not really accurate. HYDRA didn't have the technology to actually _erase_ memories. All the machine truly did was scramble your neural pathways, and make it nearly impossible for your brain to make the associations that we normally make every day. As your brain healed, those connections were repaired, you'd start to recovered memories, and HYDRA had to break them again."

 

"That's why I'd become erratic after a long mission," James said. 

 

"Exactly." Banner switched the display. Another scan appeared, showing smaller, scattered areas of red. "This is a scan we did of you when you came back to New York. I'd say about forty percent of the damage has repaired itself."

 

James frowned. "I don't _feel_ halfway better." 

 

"You're not," Simmons said, favoring him with a glum expression. "Unfortunately, it isn't only a simple matter of physical repair. While the patterns we've observed are obvious, the brain is more complicated than that. You've shown a remarkable degree of healing, and no doubt that has helped with your recovery, but there is also the fact that when you were found in the 1940s, you were suffering from amnesia, probably from injuries you sustained in the fall. That, coupled with the intensive mental and psychological conditioning you endured in Russia, makes charting your recovery somewhat difficult."

 

"So, there's psychological element to it, as well," Sam said. 

 

"Psychological, emotional, all of the above. Yes," Simmons replied. "Think of the brain more like a jigsaw puzzle. It's repairing the _pieces_ , but only you can put them back together where they belong."

 

James took it all in, staring at the images. "I always hated jigsaw puzzles," he muttered.

 

"The fact that you've come this far is a good sign," Banner added with a chuckle. "And like Doctor Simmons says, it's remarkable. There's every reason to expect that you'll continue to improve as you have been."

 

"What about his headaches?" Sam asked.

 

"That was something we looked at as well," Simmons replied. "We think that the headaches are a direct result of your brain's rapid healing. You've suffered pain when trying to access memories or just after recalling something. It's a side effect."

 

"This leads us to some good news." Banner activated a different set of displays. "These are Steve's scans. The first is the one I performed with the portable unit on the jet while we were coming back from Colorado. The second is from yesterday."

 

"There are already signs of marked improvement," Simmons said. 

 

"But he still doesn't remember anything," Sam countered. 

 

"Well, just because Steve's healing factor works faster doesn't mean it won't take time." Banner said gently. 

 

"How long?" James asked. "Do you think?"

 

Banner shared an uncomfortable glance with Simmons before answering. "If you work with him, the way he has with you these last few months, he might heal relatively quickly—"

 

" _Might_ ," James interrupted. "In what? Days? Weeks?"

 

"Honestly, we don't know." Simmons said quietly. "It could be days, or weeks, or...months."

 

James' face fell at the words. Simmons quickly added a note of optimism.

 

"But, he is already moving in the right direction, and he has a lot going for him. His brain wasn't as severely damaged as...well, as yours, and he was only subjected to the procedure once."

 

"And, he wasn't conditioned the way you were back in the forties," Banner added bluntly. "He'll recover faster, even though we can't predict how much faster. Believe it or not, this is good news."

 

Sam looked about as mollified as James felt. "What can we do?"

 

Simmons smiled. "I would say the same thing he did for Sergeant Barnes. Talk to him, try to engage him and stimulate his brain into make associations, recall memories. The more he works at it, the easier it will get."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_1941_  
 _Brooklyn, New York_

 

"You don't...have to stay here...all day, Buck," Steve wheezed in between racking coughs. 

 

Bucky turned from his perch by the window. "Tired of my company already?"

 

"You should be at work," Steve sighed. 

 

"I'm off today."

 

Steve leveled a stern look at him. "No, you're not."

 

"Sure I am," Bucky replied, smiling. "I'm here, aren't I?"

 

Steve just frowned and curled on his side, pulling the blanket a little tighter around his bony frame.

 

The truth was Steve seemed to be getting worse. It was already the third sinus infection he'd had since the cold weather set in, and it was affecting his asthma. Every day Bucky would come home to find that the symptoms had worsened. If it kept going like that, he'd have to take Steve to the hospital, and they just didn't have the money.

 

"I've had worse," Steve murmured. 

 

Bucky flinched. He'd thought the kid had drifted back to sleep. "I know you have."

 

"Remember when I was seventeen?"

 

"I remember, kiddo."

 

"You really don't have to stay."

 

"Yeah, I do."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Present Day_  
 _Avengers Tower, Medical Wing_  
 _New York City_  
 _3:00 PM_

 

"Something wrong?"

 

James flinched, turning away from the infirmary windows. Steve was watching him from the bed, books and tablets scattered across his lap. He shook his head. "No."

 

"You've been staring out the window for a while."

 

"Just thinking," James said, moving to sit in the chair beside the bed. Steve had moved around the Tower, trying to acclimate himself, but mostly stayed put in the medical wing. He claimed fatigue, but James suspected it was more a bout of depression. Reading about himself wasn't doing much so far to recover any memories, and Steve was frustrated. 

 

"You gonna make me ask?" Steve said, an edge of annoyance in his tone.

 

James raised his eyebrows and glanced over, a grin forming on his face. _Nosy prick_. Fine. "I was thinking about how many times I've seen you laid up sick or hurt."

 

Steve motioned toward one of the biographies he'd been skimming. "From what I've read, that was probably a lot."

 

_Too many_ , James mused silently. 

 

"This isn't doing any good." Steve tossed the latest book aside and rubbed his forehead. 

 

"Nothing ringing a bell?" James asked. 

 

Steve shook his head. "Nothing. I...kinda recognize the shield, but...I can't...."

 

James frowned and stood up, folding his arms as he moved idly around the room. There wasn't much he could do. They'd been talking for days, trying to jog something—anything—loose in Rogers' scrambled brain, but had accomplished nothing.

 

_Does Steve ever feel like this with me?_

 

"You still haven't told me what happened to your arm," Steve blurted. 

 

James shrugged. "It's a long story."

 

"We appear to have plenty of time," Steve groused, waving at the stack of unhelpful books he'd been perusing.

 

James smirked. Steve was as bad a patient as ever. It was a trait they had always shared. "I lost it during the war. Some people found me, and gave me this one."

 

They'd discussed the war, but James had shied away from his postwar nightmare. Sam had talked around it as well, unsure how Steve might react.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes. "You say ' _some people_ ' in a way that makes it sound like it wasn't voluntary."

 

"I was captured by the enemy," James said simply. "They had...well, I was useful to them, so they built this thing on me."

 

"Supposedly I was the big hero," Steve said, motioning toward one of the history books again. "Why didn't I come get you?"

 

James smiled sadly. "You didn't know."

 

"You seem pretty unconcerned by it," Steve said quietly. "Sounds like you ought to be angry."

 

"I was. For a while," James said. "But, I've been trying to take the long view these last few days. If they hadn't found me, I might still be frozen in that river, or dead...and I wouldn't have found _you_ again."

 

It felt easier to express it now, while Steve wasn't quite Steve. It'd been too hard to say before. He felt bad about that, now. If Steve never fully recovered— 

 

James shut that line of thought down before it went any further.

 

Steve huffed a sardonic laugh. "And we wouldn't be having these fruitful conversations."

 

James grinned. "Exactly."

 

Steve rubbed his head again. James stepped closer. "Another headache?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"The docs say that's good. Means you're healing."

 

"Yeah, well, maybe they can have one of these instead of me," Steve said, hissing softly as he raised his other hand to his temple. "Feels like my head's gonna blow off."

 

"Just breathe," James said, placing a steadying hand on the other man's shoulder. "Ride it out."

 

"Were they this bad for you?"

 

"Yeah." James said, keeping his voice low. "They get easier."

 

Steve planted his elbows on his knees and his hands on his temples and worked on just breathing. "Wouldn't be so bad if they actually led to me remembering something."

 

"You'll get there, pal," James replied. "Took me a year and counting to get even this far, but they say you're _specialer_ than me, so you'll get through it faster."

 

"Jealous?" Steve smiled. "And 'specialer' isn't a word."

 

"Yes, it is."

 

"It's really not."

 

"Sure it is, I'm not stupid."

 

Steve cracked one eye open. "Oh? I thought you always take all the stupid with you."

 

_Don't do anything stupid until I get back_.

 

_How can I? You're takin' all the stupid with you_.

 

James went still. "What'd you say?"

 

"I was just kidding—"

 

"No, not..." James frowned. "What made you say that?"

 

Steve shrugged. "I dunno. I just—it just came out."

 

_Don't push_. James pursed his lips and nodded. "Okay."

 

The headache subsided a little, and Steve relaxed. He picked up a few of the books, but immediately set them aside again, looking disappointed. "I'm not getting anything out of this."

 

James nodded and sat down again. "What do you want to do?"

 

"I don't know," Steve shrugged. "Maybe try watching the news again? Maybe something will...I don't know." He shrugged again.

 

"I know how you feel, Steve. Believe me, I do." James empathized. There was nothing worse than being stuck, trying to rediscover yourself, with nothing to do. At least when James had done it, he'd had revenge to occupy his mind, and other myriad daily tasks like finding food and some place to sleep at night. Steve wasn't on the run, and HYDRA wasn't an imminent threat, for the moment. 

 

All Steve had to cling to was the company of his well-meaning, but equally helpless friends. They were all trying, spending time and telling stories and running through history books looking for things to show him, but in the end it was Steve's brain that had to heal, and it was clear that it was going to do it at its own pace. 

 

In the meantime, James could keep Steve's spirits up—which was odd, since only a few months before, he would never have expected to succeed at such an assignment. "JARVIS, can you put on the news?"

 

" _Certainly, Sergeant. Local, national, or international?_ "

 

"Surprise us."

 

CNN appeared on a monitor mounted along the wall in front of the bed. A second screen lit up, showing a channel selection. Stark's AI always surprised James when it anticipated like that.

 

"It's odd," Steve murmured. "I remember watching the news in the theater."

 

James nodded. "Yeah. Now, everyone has a theater in their bedrooms. Takes some getting used to."

 

Early on, he'd tried to determine _when_ Steve thought he was. The forties? The present? From what Steve had told him, it was a little of both, and the confusion between the two eras—two Steves—wasn't helping his recovery very much. It was like he was trying to put two different jigsaw puzzles together, and the pieces were all mixed up. 

 

Steve folded him arms and sat back on the pillows. A story about President Ellis' newly selected Vice President filled the screen. James focused on the channel list. He'd discovered that he hated watching television news for more than a few minutes. He preferred reading it online, where he could control the feed. He watched the TV schedule roll by with disdain. "All these channels, and I still don't see a damned Rangers game anywhere."

 

"Forget the Rangers," Steve scoffed, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Give me the Amerks any day."

 

" _Please_ ," James shot back without thinking. "They couldn't win the cup if Stanley himself came out and handed it to them on a silver platter."

 

"They beat your Rangers easy enough in '38."

 

"Yeah, right before getting crushed by the Black Hawks—" James blinked and looked over at him in surprise. "Wait, you remember that?"

 

Steve was still watching the screen. "Yeah, you didn't talk to me for three days after they won. And they were robbed. Stewart made that goal fair and...square..." He trailed off when he saw James staring. "What? Why are you smiling?" 

 

James huffed a laugh. "You remember that."

 

It took a moment to register, but then Steve was smiling, too. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

 

"Anything else?"

 

Steve's brow furrowed, as he tried to think. "Um...your dad took you to your first Rangers game. I think...when you were six?"

 

"Yeah, in Madison Square Garden. When it was actually in Madison Square." James laughed. "You're doing great, Stevie. Keep going...."

TBC

A/N: _Thanks and a shout out to Domenika Marzione and her blog. I know next to nothing about hockey, so James and Steve's conversation is based entirely on her personal headcannon about Steve's hockey interests. She's posted a lot of interesting ideas and analyses about Cap and the Winter Soldier; it's proven very inspiring_. 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_Office of Dr. Tanis Nieves_  
 _New York City_  
 _4:05 PM, Local Time_

 

"I don't know what I'm doing, Doc."

Looking up from her ever-present legal pad, Doctor Nieves favored him with a smile. "It sounds to me like you're doing just fine." 

James frowned, just rubbing his hands together self-consciously. 

Nieves set her pad down on her lap. "Judging by what you've told me, Steve is making excellent progress." 

"Not enough," James sighed. "He's remembered some things, bits and pieces. But, it's taken a long time to get this far, and he gets frustrated. I'm not doing enough to help him...but I don't know how to do anything else."

"Steve is frustrated? Or _you_ are?" Nieves asked.

"I'm talking about Steve," James replied impatiently. 

"Are you?"

She was wearing one of those maddeningly innocent expressions again, even while she played another of her verbal chess games that he always seemed to lose. James shook his head. "Okay. Why don't we skip the part where I protest and you explain to me how I'm actually feeling even when I don't realize it?"

Nieves laughed. "I didn't know our sessions had become so predictable."

He just looked at her, raising his eyebrows expectantly. She huffed lightly. 

"All right. It seems to me that it's not Steve's frustration that's eating at you." She said. "After everything that's happened these last few months, you two have switched places. Now he's the one recovering, and you're the one who feels responsible for 'fixing' the other."

"I am responsible—"

"You're _not_ , at least not you alone, but let's put a pin in that one for a moment," Nieves cut him off gently. "I think you're the one who's frustrated. Steve's been your safety net ever since you came back to New York. He's the one who arranged for your freedom. He's the one who found a place to live. He's the one who's been there helping you put your life back together. Now, _you're_ in that role, and maybe it feels like someone's pulled the rug out from under you."

"Seems like that'd be pretty selfish of me," James said quietly, fidgeting in the chair. He didn't deny what she'd said. He couldn't.

"It's okay to be selfish sometimes, James," Nieves replied. "And, it's not like this is a normal, everyday situation for people. You have a right to feel overwhelmed."

James stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. "I owe him everything, Doc. Now, it's like.... What can I do to help him?"

"I think you're doing it already," Nieves said. "Stay the course. Just be the friend for him that he's been for you. No one can ask more of you than that."

"What if it's not enough?"

"I think you'll be surprised to find that it is."

James sat back in the chair, not know what to say to that. He hoped she was right.

"In the meantime," she continued. "If you start to feel lost, why don't you ask yourself why you came back to New York in the first place."

He frowned. "I was unconscious."

She laughed. "And why did you _stay_?"

He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand, silencing him. "Don't tell _me_. I'm not the one who needs to hear the answer."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower, Medical Wing_  
 _New York City_  
 _7:30 PM_

 

"May I ask you a question, Sam?" Steve asked. He looked over from the window where he'd been watching the city skyline. 

Wilson looked up from his phone. "Shoot."

Steve glanced at the door. He was risking being overheard, but he needed answers. "You and James don't want to talk about what happened to him after the war. Every time I bring it up, you both change the subject. I'd like to know why." 

Sam's expression shifted into a grimace, but he was on the spot and it was obvious that he knew it. "It's kind of a long—"

"A long story," Steve huffed impatiently. "Yeah, I've heard."

Setting his phone down, Sam visibly relented, and told him the story. The details were even worse than Steve had feared. Brainwashing, torture, being used as an assassin and frozen for years at a time...it seemed too insane to be real, but somehow Steve knew that Sam was telling him the truth.

"You blamed yourself for a lot of it. You've got a lot to deal with right now. We just didn't want you to feel...." Sam shrugged helplessly. 

"Was it my fault?" Steve asked bluntly. 

"No," Sam said quickly. "You were already in the ice when all that happened. But, he'd already been changing during the war, before the fall, and when you found out what happened to him, you took it hard. Barnes thought— _we_ thought...maybe we didn't want to put you through that again." 

Steve considered the new information. It filled in some important missing pieces. "I went after him. I was the one who brought him back from...all that. Right?"

Sam looked hopeful. "You remember?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded. "I didn't have the context...but, it makes a little more sense, now."

"We didn't like keeping it from you, Steve. He was only trying to—"

"I get it," Steve said softly. He did. "I guess he's been looking after me for a long time."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, smiling. "And before you ask, I have no idea what you did to deserve it."

Steve mulled over what he'd heard, and couldn't help but feel a little ashamed. For almost a month, he'd felt suspicious, wondering what his friends seemed to be hiding from him. Now that it was out in the open, he realized how foolish his brooding misgivings had been. James— _Bucky, I call him Bucky_ —had been there for him ever since he'd first woken up, terrified and confused. He shouldn't have questioned his friend's motives. 

He idly wondered if that was how Bucky had felt, in the months prior, when he'd been the one groping to find his memories and get back on his feet. Had he mistrusted Steve, too? It was so easy to fall into those dark holes. 

Any further musing was cut off when Barnes appeared in the doorway carrying a large white bag. He stopped when he realized that both Steve and Sam had turned to look at him. "Hey." He raised the bag. "I brought dinner."

"Katz's Deli?" Sam asked, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. 

"I felt like going for a walk after my session." Barnes shrugged as he moved to the bed and started unloading the bag.

"You walked from Nieves' office to the East Village?" Sam asked, arching an eyebrow. 

Barnes blinked and looked over at him with a frown. "To the subway station, Wilson." He started laying out several wrapped subs. "Seventeen dollars for a pastrami sandwich. The future is ridiculous."

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble," Steve said, though the smell was already making his mouth water. 

"Figured you're tired of Stark's gourmet chef pandering to your every desire." Barnes said, smirking. 

Sam frowned at that. "Yeah, it's _terrible_."

They settled around the bed and dug in to the food. Steve devoured his first sandwich in what had to be a record time—not that he necessarily would remember. As he unwrapped his second sandwich, he eyed Barnes. "So, uh, Jam— _Bucky_ , I wanted to ask you about something." 

"Okay," Barnes replied, looking up from his food.

Steve saw Sam looking somewhat worried at the end of the bed, looking back and forth between them. No doubt, he thought Steve would be broaching the elephant in the room. 

"Am I remembering correctly...we were in a barbershop quartet?"

Barnes' eyes widened, almost in alarm. His head snapped over, turning a glare on Sam. "I _thought_ you could keep a secret."

Sam held up his hands. "Hey, I didn't tell him!"

"He didn't," Steve interjected. "It came to me last night. Had a dream about it, actually."

Barnes turned back to him, rolling his eyes. "I...wasn't going to say anything. I wasn't any good at it."

"But, you stayed in it anyway," Steve said. 

"You wouldn't let me quit."

"He's lying," Sam said, around a mouthful of sandwich. "He just stayed in because you wanted him to, you didn't have to say anything."

Barnes glared at Sam again. 

"What? He already remembered. It's not a secret now."

Steve grinned. "Maybe we should put a new group together."

Bucky hung his head and mumbled something unintelligible.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower, Medical Wing_  
 _New York City_  
 _11:45 PM_

 

Natasha walked toward her room. The Tower was quiet. Thor and Jane were out on the town after a successful effort to get NASA involved in one of her deep space projects, and the others had dispersed to various corners of the building doing their own things. With little else to do, she decided to go to sleep early.

As she reached her room, she heard voices from the suite James had been using during Steve's recovery. Curious, she walked closer, listening. 

" _Goodbye My Coney Island Baby...Farewell my own true love—_ "

"You're an octave too low."

"I am not. You're just out of practice and blaming me. Try it again."

" _Goodbye My Coney Island Baby...Farewell my own true love...I'm gonna go away and leave you. Never to see you anymore...._ "

"That's better."

"It was _fine_ the first time."

Smothering a laugh, Natasha edged up to the partway open door and peered inside. Steve and James were sitting on the floor by the bed, reading from a piece of paper as they harmonized together.

" _Goodbye My Coney Island Baby..._ "

"You're dropping the note on—"

"Stop conducting me, Stevie—"

Natasha cleared her throat, smiling at them from the doorway. Both men looked up, surprised at her presence. "I guess not all the members of your barbershop quartet are dead after all, Steve."

Rogers grinned, looking from James' embarrassed face to hers. "I guess not."

"I had the good sense to retire from show business," James murmured sardonically. "Thank God the war came when it did."

Steve scoffed. "It wasn't that bad."

"I was," James shot back.

Natasha looked skyward. "JARVIS, make sure Tony never hears about this. These poor fellas have suffered enough."

" _I wouldn't dream of telling him, Ms. Romanoff_."

She winked at them. "You two aren't bad, though. Maybe you can get Thor to join in as a baritone."

Steve's eyes lit up. "That's not a bad idea!"

"Don't even think about it," James rumbled. 

Natasha shook her head in amusement and turned to leave. "Saturday nights will never be the same."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Six Weeks Later_  
 _Avengers Tower_  
 _New York City_  
 _9:00 PM_

 

Steve sat on the balcony overlooking the flight deck, tapping a pen lightly against his notebook. He had all of his memory back. Bruce had cleared him the day before. His brain scans were all clear of damage. Things were officially back to normal.

At least, that's what everyone was happily saying to each other.

He was supposed to be happy, too. His ordeal was over. He was back to being himself. But, somehow he couldn't bring himself to let go of the experience. He'd literally been in Bucky's position for almost three months. He'd been through similar ups and downs, trying to remember his own past, though, mercifully without the profound trauma that Bucky had suffered. Rumlow's men hadn't had time to attempt to brainwash him, or condition him after the memory wipe. His friends had gotten to him in time, which was more than Steve could say for Bucky. 

It didn't seem fair.

Still, the incident gave him new insight into Bucky's situation. That was something. Steve had started writing his notes a few days before, as soon as he felt like he was completely healed. 

Almost silent footsteps behind him made him look over his shoulder. Bucky settled quietly along the balcony railing, eyeing the view Steve had been enjoying all evening.

"Hey."

"Hey," Barnes replied. "What are you doing out here?"

Steve glanced down at his book. "Oh. Nothing much. Just making some notes."

"Banner give you homework?" Barnes smirked.

"Actually," Steve said softly. "I was jotting down some things from the last couple of months. I thought after everything that happened to me...well, that maybe I could use it to help you. Maybe...I won't feel so useless when you're having trouble."

Barnes frowned at that, staring down at him disapprovingly. He spoke quietly, "You were never useless, Steve."

They stayed silent for a few minutes. Steve closed the notebook and followed Bucky's gaze out over the city. "I thought you and Barton were going to be at the shooting range."

Bucky shrugged. "We're finished."

"How'd it go?"

"He says I have to wear a blindfold next time or he won't play."

Steve snickered. Another stretch of silence fell over them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. 

"Finally got warm." Steve mused.

"Good." Bucky nodded. "I hate cold weather."

"Me too."

Steve watched the city for a while longer. The lights seemed brighter than usual. He could hear the faint sounds of traffic far below them. The vantage point seemed to help put things in perspective. It was why he'd picked it.

"Thanks for not giving up on me, Buck."

Barnes didn't move, aside from raising his eyebrows. "Likewise, kiddo."

 

 

A/N: _Katz's has been open in Manhattan since 1888, and was famous in WWII for sending gift packages of lunch meat to the boys overseas_.


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue

_14 Months After the Fall of S.H.I.E.L.D._  
 _Avengers Tower_  
 _New York City_  
 _2:45 AM_

 

He slipped into the room silently, checking to be sure he wasn't noticed before closing the door.

Moving gracefully across the darkened room, he made his way to Natasha's bed. She would already know he was there. She was as well-trained as always and would have detected his entrance—

Natasha jackknifed off the pillow, the blade in her right hand swinging up to slash his neck. She was fast. Almost too fast. But James was still faster, catching her wrist with his flesh and blood hand. He turned her hand and kissed just below the wrist. 

"Is that a no?"

She smiled in the dark. "Just playing hard to get."

He grinned, plucking the knife from her hand and returning it to her handle-first. Five times in three weeks, and they were still doing that little dance. James couldn't decide if he should be amused or turned-on. He was a little of both.

Natasha grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down. His grin turned more self-assured. "Does this conclude negotiations?"

"You talk too much," she said, kissing him.

He returned it enthusiastically, then chuckled. "Don't hear that too often."

She went to pull him in again, but he pushed back, eyeing the silver arrow necklace around her neck. He'd tried to ignore it before, but things were moving a little faster. "Will he mind?"

Natasha glanced down, following his gaze. "Oh...no. It's not like that. We're just friends. We were a team back when S.H.I.E.L.D. was around."

"Partners, huh?" He said softly, then nodded. "Good. It would have been awkward if I'd had to kill him."

She resumed pulling him down on the bed. "That's not funny."

James nuzzled her neck, moving toward her ear. "My come-on lines are a little rusty."

He felt her smile against his cheek. "Steve told me a few of them. Trust me, they're fossilized."

James frowned, vowing revenge on the not-so-little traitor Steve Rogers. He slid his arms around her. "This isn't as easy as it used to be."

Natasha moved her arms up around his neck. "You're doing fine."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Avengers Tower_  
 _8:50 AM_

 

Tony looked up as Steve and Bucky entered the kitchen, each grabbing a handful of fruit and breakfast bars.

"Where are you two off to so early?" Pepper asked pleasantly from the table. She, and Tony were at the table eating breakfast with Sam, Barton, Thor and Jane. 

"Heading down to Washington for the day. Going to go see Peggy and Betsy."

Tony paused as he processed that. He knew Peggy Carter of course, but....

"That why you rented the motorcycles yesterday?" Sam asked.

"I didn't want to stare at his back the whole way." James replied. "This way he can stare at mine."

"Right." Steve scoffed, dropping more food for the trip into his duffel. "We'll see about that."

"Don't get a speeding ticket," Clint warned. "If Captain America is stopped by a traffic cop it will be all over CNN."

Rogers and Barnes shared a look, then shrugged. Steve smiled deviously. "We'll do our best."

"You boys have fun," Pepper waved as they departed. 

"Imagine what it was like back in the '30s, when they were normal," Sam mused.

"I'm not sure they were ever 'normal,'" Jane shook her head. 

"Anyone else know who Betsy is?" Tony finally asked. 

Barton pondered that. "I dunno. Didn't Barnes have a sister or two?"

Pepper frowned. "One, I think. But her name was Rebecca. I'm not sure if she's still...you know."

Tony resumed eating, but decided that it was the right time to bring up the other elephant he'd spotted in the Tower. "Um...did anyone else see Barnes coming out of Romanoff's room this morning?"

Barton, Sam, and Thor glanced at him sharply, then all looked away. 

"Nope."

"No."

"I saw nothing."

Tony arched an eyebrow at them. Pepper and Jane shared a knowing look but both covered their smiles with a forkful of pancakes.

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_State Highway 96_  
 _West of Haswell, Colorado_  
 _Midnight_

 

Brock Rumlow kept his eyes on the floor of the prison transport. He was surrounded by four heavily armed MPs, none of whom were talking. It made for a boring trip.

The ride from Fort Leavenworth to the Supermax prison in Colorado was nine hours plus...the least they could do was entertain him. He smiled to himself. _These guys don't enjoy their jobs enough_....

He'd stopped testing the heavy steel chains around his wrists and ankles. The metal was too strong for him to break, and Talbot's men had been well-briefed. He'd been searched before loading on the truck, and didn't have so much as a paperclip on him. He wasn't getting out without help, or a key.

By his estimate, they were somewhere in the middle of nowhere Colorado by this point. Even if he could get out, there would be no where to go on foot.

The transport slowed abruptly. Rumlow looked up at the other men, who were frowning. The guard in charge touched his radio. 

"What's going on?"

" _There's an obstruction, Sergeant. Matthews is going out to—_ "

The report was cut off by a hail of gunfire that peppered the forward half of the vehicle. Bullets pinged off the armored shell around them. The MPs readied their weapons.

"Corporal! Report!" The sergeant called frantically. 

The gunfire carried on for about thirty seconds, then everything went eerily quiet. 

"All right men. Ready up. No one gets through that door."

A moment later, a small glowing spot appeared by the latch on the rear door. Given its size and the speed at which the glow intensified, Rumlow guessed what it was. He squeezed his eyes shut and angled himself away from the door as best he could. 

A painfully bright flash flooded the compartment, and his hearing cut out. The S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue flash bang penetrator had eaten through the armored door in less than five seconds.

Even with his ears ringing loudly, Brock could make out the sounds of gunfire. The guards lasted all of ten seconds. They were better trained than he thought.

Closing his eyes had helped, but even so his vision was blurred for a moment, and his ears took longer to stop ringing. He finally turned and looked toward the door. What he saw made him laugh. 

"Grant Ward, you son of a bitch."

The former HYDRA sleeper agent extended his hand, helping Rumlow out of the truck. He nodded in greeting. "Brock."

Ward fished some keys off one of the dead guards and quickly freed Rumlow of the chains. "Are you all right?"

"Better now," Brock replied. "I was starting to think no one was coming. Never thought it'd be you."

"I owe you for getting me out of Georgia in '08." Ward said simply, not smiling.

Rumlow remembered. His S.T.R.I.K.E. commandos had been called in to extract Ward when the war in South Ossetia flared up. "Nice. What's the next move?"

Ward motioned to his right, toward a small railroad bridge a few meters off the side of the road. It was the only landmark in sight for miles in the flat terrain. "Got a car parked over there. Gassed up. She'll take you wherever you want to go."

Rumlow noticed the omission. "You're not coming." 

"We're not looking for the same things, Rumlow," Ward replied, handing over a handgun taken from one of the guards. 

Brock frowned at the vague answer, watching as Ward nodded to him and walked off toward the front of the truck. "Is that right? What are you looking for Ward?"

Ward didn't look back. "Closure."

**CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS**

_Washington, D.C._  
 _3:00PM_

 

"Aw, look at her, Steve..." Bucky groaned. 

"It's been a long time Buck." Steve said, placing a comforting hand on his metal shoulder.

Bucky shook his head. _How could they let this happen?_ He tapped the glass. "I know, but...oh no, look at all the corrosion along the scope."

The M1941 Johnson rifle had been Bucky's favorite during the war. Howard Stark had customized "Betsy" with a scope and converted it to bolt action for use as a sniper rifle. Barnes had left it in London when they had left to raid Zola's train. Steve wasn't sure when it had ended up in the Smithsonian's collection.

Steve wasn't sure who was in worse shape, the old rifle, or Bucky now that he'd seen it after so long. "Hey, maybe the curator will let you help restore her."

"You think so?" Bucky asked despondently. 

"Sure. Tony donates an obscene amount of money to this place every year. He could probably talk them into it."

Bucky thought about it for a moment, then started rattling off all the little repairs they'd have to make. Steve smiled and let him talk. It was nice to see him excited about something. 

He let his gaze wonder out the storage room's window, which overlooked the main floor of the Captain America exhibit. When he'd lived in Washington, he'd come there once in a while, mostly to remember, but more often than not to sulk and mourn a past that was lost to him.

It felt different with Bucky there. It was less lonely, for one, and Barnes had a way of making the patriotic reverence of the place funny. Steve had never laughed there, until he'd walked through the displays with Bucky.

"Does it feel funny to you?" Steve asked in a low voice. 

Bucky looked at him. "What?"

"Most of our lives are right here. Under glass for all to see."

Bucky followed his eyes out the window, then frowned. "Our _old_ lives."

Steve glanced at him. "Would you go back, if you could?"

Barnes shot him a sarcastic glance. "To the Depression? Or the _war_?"

"You know what I mean," Steve said.

Bucky watched him for a moment, then nudged Steve's side with his metal elbow before going back to studying the rifle. "I'll go wherever you go, Stevie."

**END**

A/N: _The sniper rifle Bucky uses in CA: The First Avenger was indeed a customized M1941 Johnson rifle. A small number were made and sold to the U.S. Marine Corps in 1941, and nicknamed "Betsy" by their designer Melvin Johnson._

_The bulk of the latter half of this takes place in the middle of season 2 of Agents of Shield. After Puerto Rico but before the Robert Gonzalez takeover and the Inhumans arc began._

_As much as I tried to keep this series in line with canon, I realize that the events of Age of Ultron have already rendered it an AU, and Civil War will completely change it. Nevertheless, I will finish the remaining segments in the series, as close to canon as possible, though they may change slightly to reflect the end of Ultron and the new Avengers line up._


End file.
